


What We Could Have Been

by TakumaAngel



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Films, Romance, Slow Burn, alt world, separation...no cheating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakumaAngel/pseuds/TakumaAngel
Summary: In a slightly altered version of Bailey's Crossroad's, Virginia, all three Smith children are present, but there is no Helen. Hope and fear confuse Juliana when she begins to fall for alt-John. But she has to go back to her world--she can't leave things incomplete. The Reichsmarschall knows where's she been, and he knows about the budding relationship between Juliana and the alternate version of himself. The absence of Helen and the girls as they remain in the Neutral Zone in their own timeline tempts him to reconsider Juliana's place in his life, in his heart, and in his choices, especially after Juliana returns with another film. Also on FanFiction.net
Relationships: Juliana Crain/John Smith
Comments: 26
Kudos: 36





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys. I recently rewatched MITHC, read some other fanfictions, and came to the conclusion that I had a good idea I wanted to explore. So here I am, with a story that I don’t want to be too long, but long enough that I’m able to share some wishful thinking with you all. I haven’t entirely decided how this story will play out, or how I’ll choose to end it, but the beauty of a show/story like MITHC where the premise is founded on the idea of a multiverse, that means that technically, all fanfics could be cannon! So, sit back and enjoy this ride with me, and we’ll see where it ends together!

BAILEY’S CROSSROADS, VIRGINIA – USA: 1964

Body and mind clashed: she should be dead, but her heart hadn’t stopped. She opened her eyes, the bright sunlight of early evening almost blinding. He would find her. She had to go, to run, as far as she could.

Blurred vision and the wailing pain in her chest overpowered her, and her legs buckled after only a few short strides.

Down, hard, onto pavement she crashed. The end.

The screeching of brakes was far louder than the purr of the engine that had been careening toward her. The metallic click of a door handle, the squeak of hinges.

“Oh Jesus.”

Stuttering, throbbing, aching, she rolled her head around, trying to get a grasp on reality—whether she was living or dead or dying—

Panic threatened to snuff out her limping heart’s will to keep beating as she met the eyes of the man who had put a bullet in her chest only moments ago.

The demand for self-preservation screamed at her to run, but on the verge of expiration, she could only roll over and hope for an act of fate to save her.

“Lady, don’t move, it’s okay.”

She had to escape; to find a gun, a weapon—the will to stand—

“Listen, we’re going to get you to a hospital, ok?”

Hospital. Hospital—sick—dying—death—murder—incinerator.

_Thomas?_

Thomas had been taken to a hospital. Thomas was dead.

Thomas stood in front of her.

_Was she dead?_

“I’m going to sit you up, alright?”

His arms were around her. Trapped—trap—the end— _her_ end.

_Thomas._

Dragged backward, the world moved away from her. She was dying. She was going to die— _had_ died at _his_ hands.

Past, present, future—time no longer existed. Juliana’s fate had been decided.

x-X-x

Muffled voices drifted in and out of focus. Rolling her head against the pillow on the otherwise stiff bed beneath her caused a sharp pain that shot from her chest, up through her neck to her head. Jerking, she felt the tug of the IV cords and the needle in her hand.

“How is she?”

“We’ve got her on morphine for the pain, and her heart is still working harder than it should. She’s recovering as well as can be expected.”

“That’s, uh…that’s good. I’m glad to hear it. Umm… Can I see her?”

“She’s still heavily sedated.”

“I understand, I just… I-I need to see for myself that she’s okay. M-my son and I a-are concerned about her. He wants to know… He keeps asking, H-he’s very shook up.”

“I can’t imagine. It’s lucky you found her.” A pause. “Alright, but just for a minute.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

That raspy voice. So familiar, and yet the gentle concern remained alien and disconcerting.

Deliberately quiet footsteps approached as the drowsy fog fought to hold control of her mind.

“Hey…”

His careful whisper, so close, soothed her while hushed alarms echoed at the back of her head, mingling with the beeping of the monitor beside her.

_Run. Run._

Roughened fingertips brushed her wrist, so gentle, so nurturing.

_Run._

“The nurse says you’re getting better. You had us worried.”

Worried? Who would worry about her? She was dead.

_Run._

An exhaled breath through his nose, then a short, awkward chuckle. “Thomas will be relieved.”

_Thomas. Thomas was dead._

_Run._

“I can’t stay long, but I’ll be back to check on you. Maybe by then, we’ll know who you are, hmm? Track down your family? I’m sure they’re missing you.”

Wanting to reply but unable to form a thought, let alone words, all she could manage was to roll her head toward the sound of his voice. Lightly he grasped her wrist, his thumb moving in a soothing circle against her skin.

“It’s alright. They’ll take good care of you here. We all will until we can get you home.”

Persuading her eyes to open, she worked to focus on the shadow above her, blinking and squinting until the face finally came into focus.

She gasped. She yanked her hand from his grasp, jerking away from him only to feel the blunt pain of the bedrail on her other side strike her back and shoulder, trapping her. The beeping came faster, in time with her thundering heart.

_Run._

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! Hey!”

His hushed and harried pleas did nothing to calm the mounting panic that was quickly morphing into terror. Her confusion made it impossible for her to move her limbs in a coherent manner. She gripped the IVs with the intent of freeing herself, but her murderer’s cries for help and the incessant beeping had summoned two nurses to constrain her.

_Run._

“Another dose of morphine! You need to leave now, Sir.”

“I-I’m sorry. Is she going to be alright?”

“She’ll be fine, Sir. You need to go.”

The numbing fire through her veins and the return of the dizzying fog in her brain snuffed out her fight for control and the need to escape.

She was dying. Or was she already dead?

x-X-x

When next Juliana awoke, the only people to pass in and out of her awareness were nurses, and occasionally the doctor. She flitted in and out of sleep, her awareness of her surroundings gradually increasing as the pain lessened, decreasing her need for higher doses of morphine. The throbbing ache in her chest had grown dull, and she no longer strained so hard to simply breathe.

With her mind no longer clouded by pain and opiates, she finally put the pieces together: She’d made it to the alt-world a split second soon enough to evade death at John Smith’s hands—only to end up in John Smith’s arms. The devil and the angel shared a face, and Juliana found it disturbing.

It was Thomas, not John, who came to visit her next time. She didn’t know how many days had passed, but the boy’s bright eyes and the flowers he’d brought with him lightened her spirits, if only a little. It was a strange relief to see him alive, tempered though by the knowledge that this boy and the Thomas she had known were two separate people.

“Oh, you’re awake. That’s good.”

“Thomas…”

“Yeah… Wait, how do you know my name?”

_Shit._

“I…I heard it. That day in the street.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, that was crazy. But the nurses say you’re doing better now.”

She shifted her eyes to the flowers and mustered a small smile. “Are those for me?”

“Sure are. We—my dad and I—thought you’d like something else to look at in here.”

“Your dad? Where is he?”

Thomas glanced toward the door. “Umm… He thought maybe I should come in alone since he startled you the last time he was here. He said you were really scared.”

“Oh… Tell him I’m sorry. I…I guess I was out of it.”

“I will. So umm… What’s your name?”

She hesitated. Should she use her real name? “Juliana. Juliana Crain.”

“Juliana. That’s a nice name. Where are you from?”

“Hmm. Far away from here.”

He glanced toward the door again, then back at Juliana. “I guess I’m not supposed to ask you too many questions. But, is it okay if I still come to visit you? It must get lonely in here.”

She smiled again. “Sure you can, Thomas. I’d like that.”

“Great. Umm… Is there anything I can get for you?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded. “Well… I guess I’d better go tell my dad the good news.”

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“John.”

“Would you thank him for me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Tell him I’m ok now…if he wants to come back next time.”

“I’ll do that.”

Juliana felt a dull sense of loss as Thomas left the room, and she had to remind herself that this Thomas was alive and well and would return. She was nervous about the prospect of seeing this alternate version of John again, but reason told her she had nothing to fear from the man who had saved her life.

Since she was able to communicate now, the nurses began asking her personal questions: What was her name? Where did she live? Did she have any family here that needed to be notified of her condition?

She told them she had no family, that she had been living with a boyfriend who had turned abusive and had shot her. She didn’t give a name, and the nurses and the hospital social worker shared their concern for her wellbeing should her boyfriend come back to find her. When she didn’t (or rather couldn’t) cooperate with their questions any longer, they gave up trying to delve deeper into her personal life.

It was two days later when Thomas returned, accompanied by his father. The nurse on duty appeared reluctant to allow John into the room, but Juliana assured them it was alright.

“Hey,” said John quietly, visibly nervous and clearly trying his best not to distress her.

“Hey.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you the other day.”

“No, it’s ok. I’m sorry I freaked out. It’s not your fault.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down awkwardly.

“We brought you some more flowers,” said Thomas, replacing the old ones with the new. “The nurses say you shouldn’t have to be here too much longer.”

She sighed as she glanced out the window. “I’m not in any hurry to leave.”

“Thomas tells me you’re not from around here,” said John.

“No, I…don’t really have anywhere to go.”

Even in her own world, Juliana hadn’t had a home for quite some time. She didn’t consider her heavily monitored apartment building in the Reich a home, merely a cage where she could be constantly observed like a test subject. Abendsen’s farmhouse had come a little closer, a little more comforting while she’d had her sister with her, but that had been a fleeting fantasy.

“Maybe you could stay with us,” piped Thomas quickly. “At least for a little while.”

“Uh, son I don’t think… S-she might not be very comfortable…”

“But she has nowhere else to go. She could take my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Thomas—”

“Father, we can’t just leave her.”

John rubbed his hands together, visibly struggling to come up with a rebuttal. He exhaled sharply, a sound of defeated uncertainty. He turned back to Juliana.

“I don’t want to distress you further, but I suppose Thomas has a point. If…if you need somewhere to stay until you can get back on your feet, you’re welcome to stay with us. It’s just me and Thomas and my two daughters.”

No Helen? She glanced between father and son, biting back the question that threatened to leap from the tip of her tongue.

Could she really stay under the same roof as John Smith—even if it was his alternate version? She drew in a steady breath. What other choice did she have?

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Nonsense,” said John. “We look out for each other around here. Right Thomas?”

“Sure do.”

“So, if you’re willing to put up with us, we’d love to have you.” She found no hint of deception, no ulterior motives hidden behind his friendly smile and warm green eyes.

She looked back at Thomas, finding comfort in his presence. “Ok. Yeah, thank you.”

The boy beamed, and for a moment, Juliana’s heart ached for the other Thomas.

x-X-x

“Easy. Careful. You got it?”

Juliana tried not to flinch at the touch of John’s hands as he hovered over her like a mother hen while she climbed out of the car.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s okay.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile and wondered if it looked as forced as it felt.

She glanced up to see Thomas and his sisters standing on the porch waiting for them.

No Helen.

Part of her felt unsettled, the fringes of her mind flirting with panic. The other part felt strangely comforted by the faces of the three children.

“Girls, can you help Juliana into the house while I grab her things?”

“Sure, Daddy!”

They rushed forward, introducing themselves with innocent smiles and eagerly helpful demeanors.

“I’m Amy, and this is Jennifer. Dad says you’re going to stay with us until you’re better.”

“Anything you need, just ask!”

“Thank you, girls.” She almost forgot for a moment that this was not her reality. “Quite the gentleman, aren’t you Thomas?” she said as he opened the door for them.

Pink tinged his cheeks. “What can I say? Father taught me well.”

 _A little too well,_ she thought. But this wasn’t her Thomas, and the man behind her carrying in the small bag of clothes and toiletries the hospital staff had cobbled together was not her would-be murderer.

“I told him you could take my room, but he insisted he would sleep on the couch.”

Clearly the poor boy was disappointed at the missed opportunity to impress a lady with his chivalry. She favored him with a smile and a hand on his arm. “That’s very sweet of you. Both of you.”

He glanced down, embarrassed. Amy and Jennifer ushered her into the living room to the sofa, bombarding her with questions in an attempt to be as hospitable as possible. Was she hungry? Did she need anything to drink? Was she tired? Did she want to watch the television?

“Girls, girls, don’t crowd Miss Crain,” said John, placing the little bag beside her before moving on hang up his coat. “She’s had quite an ordeal and would probably like some space. How about you help me in the kitchen, hmm? We’ll make something good for her to eat since all she’s had is that terrible hospital food.”

“Yeah! And we should make some cupcakes, too!” said Amy.

“You and your cupcakes,” said an exasperated Jennifer.

“What? I like cupcakes. Daddy does too, right Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Do you like cupcakes?” she asked Juliana excitedly.

“Oh, umm… I guess so.”

“Are you sure you didn’t eat any cupcakes already?” said John sternly with raised eyebrows, noting her excessive energy.

“Yes,” she giggled.

John kissed her on the forehead. “Alright then, come on. But you’d best settle down so we don’t make any messes.”

Thomas scuffed the toe of his shoe onto the floor, glancing up at Juliana as his dad and sisters left the room.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just nice to be…” Where? She wasn’t home. Far, far from it. “Well…it’s nice to be out of the hospital. Come, sit. It’s okay.”

Thomas obeyed, relaxing some as he took a seat beside her. They sat quietly, listening as John tried to keep the girls out of mischief in the kitchen while they started supper. While Thomas’s presence comforted Juliana, she felt out of place and unsure what she should do now that she was in the alt-Smiths’ home.

And there was no Helen.

It still wasn’t the right time to ask about their mother.

Thomas asked her if she liked baseball. Though she didn’t have a preference either way, she indulged him, and he swept her into a conversation about his favorite team and the best players in the league. He remembered mid-way through that there was a game happening now (though not his preferred team), and he flipped on the television—a welcome distraction and ice-breaker that dissolved some of the awkwardness of the time, place, and company in which she found herself.

Supper was still disconcerting, as Juliana sat directly across from John. Thomas sat to one side of the table, Amy and Jennifer on the other. She recalled dinner with the Smiths in her own world; the feeling of being watched, studied, like a rat in a science experiment where the end result would be the snap of a trap closing around her.

Now, it all felt too homey, too innocent and carefree. Like a dream she didn’t want to be a part of. Uncanny in its ease and with the absence of the kids’ mother. She felt as though she were sitting in Helen’s chair, the missing piece of some warped puzzle. Fate’s bad idea of a joke. The surrealness only intensified as she numbly held Thomas’s and Amy’s hands while John led them in prayer.

“So where are you from?” asked Jennifer as they tucked into their meals.

“San Francisco,” she decided to answer honestly.

“Do you still have family there?”

She shook her head no.

“How come you’re so far from home?” asked Amy. “Did you move for a boy?”

Juliana dropped her gaze, pushing her food around her plate. She hadn’t told them the made-up story she’d given the hospital staff, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. John cleared his throat.

“I think it’s best if we give Miss Crain her privacy. It’s not polite to pry into others’ business.”

The girls looked disappointed, but they didn’t argue. Once they’d cleared their plates, John dismissed them with the order to get ready for bed since they had school tomorrow. Thomas hesitated, offered to help clear the table.

“I’ll get it, you go on.”

“Dinner was lovely, thank you,” said Juliana as she carried a stack of dishes into the kitchen.

“Ah, I’ve learned a thing or two over the years. I’m not as good of a cook as my wife was, but I manage I suppose.”

There.

“Your wife?”

He nodded, setting the plates in the sink. “Yeah. Her name was Helen. She was the love of my life, blessed me with three beautiful children. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.”

The curiosity gnawed at her despite John’s earlier words to the girls.

“What happened to her? If you don’t my asking.”

The edge of his mouth twitched. “She uh… Well, it was kind of a fluke, actually. She stepped in to defend a negro woman from being harassed by this guy at the diner. He pushed her, and she went down. Hit her head in the wrong place…”

Juliana covered her mouth. “I…I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t with her. I was down the street, talking with a buddy of mine from the hardware store.” He shrugged, as if to shake away the seriousness of the tragic memory. “I heard the commotion and went running. By the time I got there, it was too late.”

“That must have been…so hard for you and the kids.”

He exhaled, nodding. “The worst day of my life. Having to tell them what had happened to their mother was hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

She looked down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“No! No, it’s alright.” He ran a hand along the back of his head, looking around awkwardly. “It was a few years ago, and we manage okay.”

“Sounds like your wife was an incredible woman. Compassionate.”

“Oh yes. The kids, they all take after their mother. Always the first to offer help to others.”

“They must take after their father, too. Not everyone would take in a complete stranger they found on the side of the road.”

He gave a nervous laugh. Shrugged again. “It’s funny. You don’t really seem like a stranger.”

They grew quiet. Juliana dropped her eyes again.

“Well,” he said, scrubbing his hands. “You must be tired. Come, I’ve straightened the room for you.”

Her feet felt like lead as she followed him back through the dining room, the living area, and down the hall to the master bedroom. His room. The room he and a deceased Helen likely used to share.

“There’s a bathroom attached, so you’ll have your privacy to wash up. Please, make yourself at home.”

She turned to John. “You don’t have to do any of this.” She glanced about. “I can make do on the couch—”

“Nonsense. After everything you’ve been through, I’m sure you could use a good night’s rest. I’ll be alright in the living room for a few days. And when you’re ready, we’ll help you get situated here in town.”

“Umm… Okay.”

“I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he said, then turned and left, closing the door easily behind him.

She stood in the middle of the room, frozen. Unsure. Maybe a minute had passed, or maybe ten. Finally, she sunk down onto the bed, her eyes turning to the contents on his nightstand: an ashtray, a small unlit candle, some loose change. There were a few photos, one of Thomas, one of Amy and Jennifer, and one of Helen. Juliana’s hands lay limply in her lap.

_“Some of the people you knew…they would change—different behaviors, different relationships, different points of view—shaped by their lives… Most people are different, depending on whether they’re hungry, safe, or scared.”_

The kind, warm, and sympathetic face of the man beyond the bedroom door morphed in her mind to become that familiar hard, cold, dangerous calculated stare that she’d come to know as synonymous with the Nazi John Smith. They were two separate men, each molded by the worlds in which they lived and the choices they’d made. But in her mind, they terrified her almost equally.

She brought her hands up to her face to muffle the sobs that wracked her body for the first time since finding herself in this alternate reality. Despite alt-John’s best efforts to provide her with comfort, safety, and a decent meal, a sleepless night was all but guaranteed.


	2. Ghosts

Wheeling the cart between the aisles, Juliana scanned the numbers and letters of the books in the nonfiction section, replacing the returned volumes into their assigned spaces. Though it didn’t pay handsomely, she had jumped at the chance to work at the local library, as small as it was. The amount of unrestricted printed material at her fingertips enthralled and excited her, giving her another glimmer of hope she hadn’t felt since she’d watched that first film of the Allies winning the war.

Although living in the Japanese Pacific States hadn’t been as restrictive as life in the Reich, there had been many taboo subjects that even libraries hadn’t been allowed to keep within their walls. Much of that information had been kept from the citizens of the JPS simply to keep the peace between Japan and the GNR, making it impossible to research any weaknesses in the Nazi regime. And neither the Nazis nor the Pons entertained the idea of religious freedoms since they necessarily undermined the proclaimed superiority of _both_ racial-political systems.

There were several books on World War II at the local library, but few that went as in-depth as she would have liked. She was waiting on a few inter-library loans related to the subjects of the Nazi Reich and Chinese Oracles.

“Hello, Miss Crain.”

It had been several weeks, but she still had to fight not to jump at the sound of his voice.

“Hello, John,” she said, glancing back at him in acknowledgement before refocusing on filing the books away in their proper places.

“Seems awfully quiet here during the day, doesn’t it?” he said, peering round at rows of shelves that were almost void of human life.

“It’ll be busy after school. All those kids with their reading lessons and history reports—”

“—And book reports, and science reports, and story time, and Bible studies.” He chuckled.

She smiled, despite herself. “Yeah, all of that.”

“Well, I uh…I stopped at the diner on break and thought I’d bring you some lunch.”

He revealed the paper bag he’d held behind his back, and Juliana stopped with her hand hovering over one of the returns. She looked down, around, at the floor—anywhere—before resigning herself to having to meet his eyes.

“You didn’t have to.”

“No,” he shrugged. “But I wanted to. You can’t survive on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches alone, Miss Crain. Even if they are delicious.”

He held the bag out to her. She hesitated, but stepped around the cart to take it.

“Thank you…”

He had learned quickly enough to keep enough physical distance between them, but she didn’t have the heart to shut down his friendly, helpful gestures—even when they reminded her of the then Obergruppenfuhrer Smith’s manipulative hospitality and phony concern for her wellbeing.

She took the bagged lunch gingerly, careful not to touch him. She thought she saw a look of sympathy pass over his features before he smiled again.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your demanding book-keeping duties. But I did want to ask—I mean, the kids wondered if…if you’d like to join us for game night on Saturday.”

She had attended only one, and it had been during her stay at the Smith home. Juliana had appreciated the innocent friendship given freely by Thomas and the girls, but her mind had been so jumbled, so preoccupied with stuffing down rising sickness and panic, that she hadn’t been able to enjoy it.

John, having observed her skittishness and discomfort around himself in particular, had offered to pay a down payment on an apartment to help her reestablish her independence. She’d refused of course, and so he compromised, promising he would only loan her the money, and that she could pay him back since she’d just gotten hired at the library. Since then, she’d avoided setting foot inside the Smith residence.

“Oh. Umm…”

“Y-you don’t have to. It’s just that, the girls really enjoy your company, and Thomas—” he broke off with an awkward laugh. “Well, I think he’s a little smitten, truthfully.”

She had noticed. Juliana had no desire to give the poor boy false hope any more than she desired to keep in so much contact with the Smiths in general. But she didn’t have too many choices when it came to resources in this world, and she had decided that getting to know more about this John might aid her in better understanding his counterpart.

“He’s a sweet boy.” She paused, giving it further thought. “Yeah… Yeah, I guess I can come.”

“Great! They’ll be glad to hear it. My buddy, Danny, is coming into town to watch the game Saturday afternoon. He usually stays the night, so I’ll probably be preoccupied.”

Juliana wanted to shrink away from the warmth that bubbled beneath her fear at the implicit, unconditional understanding he showed her time and time again. He never asked, and she never shared, but somehow, he always seemed to know exactly where her boundaries were, and he respected them without question.

So very different from Reichsmarschall Smith.

“Should I bring something? A dish, a snack, uh…”

“No, just yourself. You’re the guest.”

“Me and Danny?”

“Well…yeah, but Danny’s more like family after all these years, so he’s the only one required to bring extra food to feed himself.”

John brightened at her genuine laugh.

“I’ll bring a treat for the kids at least.”

“Careful. Bribe them with treats and allow them to get too attached, and you’ll never get rid of them.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind having another little sister or two.”

She could see the questions in his eyes, but as always, he didn’t ask.

“Saturday it is then.” He looked at his watch. “Ah, back to work. See you then, Miss Crain.”

She watched him cross the library, exit, and turn right to head back down to the hardware store.

x-X-x

For the kids, she told herself. She only agreed for the kids. Whatever atrocities their parents had committed in her world didn’t reflect on the children in either timeline: and these ones weren’t being raised and indoctrinated into the Hitler Youth.

Even thinking back on her own existence in her own world made her feel crazy as she walked up the path to the quaint little house in small town Virginia, USA. The two realities were so similar, and yet so jarringly different. Most days she awoke expecting to be back in the JPS with Frank only to find herself in her bright, quiet little apartment; like something out of a storybook.

Frank. A million years had passed since then.

She didn’t have the chance to knock, greeted instantly by an overzealous Amy who’d been watching for her from the living room window. Jennifer conducted herself in a more reserved fashion, being the older of the two. They ushered her inside where John, Thomas, and a man she assumed to be Danny, sat watching the final inning of the baseball game.

“Miss Crain, welcome!” said John, rising to his feet, his friend following suit. He kept his distance as he introduced them. “Danny, this is Juliana Crain. Miss Crain, this is Daniel.”

“Daniel is too formal. Danny is perfectly fine,” he said, offering his hand in greeting. Juliana took it with a pleasant smile.

“Hi Danny. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too, Miss Crain. Or, Juliana?”

“Juliana is perfectly fine.”

Her eyes dropped instinctively to the silver Star of David that hung from a chain around his neck.

“So…you two have known each other for a long time?”

“Yeah, we uh, went to school together,” said John. “We were deployed together.”

“I was always bailing him out of trouble,” said Danny.

“Yeah, now it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“Only occasionally.”

John clapped him on the shoulder, and they turned back to reseat themselves on the sofa.

“Don’t mind us, Miss Crain,” said John. “We’ll be discussing the game long after it ends.”

“Considering what a shit game it’s been,” piped Danny.

“They’re throwing the second half of the season,” said Thomas, shaking his head.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” said John as Juliana and the girls moved to the dining room. “Help yourself.”

“What’s in the bag?” asked Amy.

Juliana smiled. “Why don’t we find out together?”

Amy and Jennifer giggled as she set the powder blue bag on the table for them to explore.

“Cookies!”

“Mhm. I baked them special. There’s some for each of you. Even you, Thomas,” she called.

The boy looked up at her and grinned. “Yeah, thanks!”

“So, what game should we play?” asked Juliana.

“Oh, can I pick?” said Jennifer.

“No, me!”

“You got to pick last time!”

“It sounds like it’s Jennifer’s turn,” said Juliana. Amy gave a pout, but didn’t argue.

“Can we play Monopoly?”

“Of course.”

“Yes!” Jennifer scurried to the cabinet in the corner of the living room where the board games were stored.

“Amy, why don’t you take the cookies into the kitchen?”

She was there and back within seconds, and they wasted no time in grabbing some snacks and setting up the board. Juliana quickly became lost in the carefree game, the jokes, the teasing. She hadn’t played Monopoly since she and Trudy were kids, long before she realized how bleak life in the JPS had really been.

Thomas joined them some time later. Jennifer assumed a premature victory before they reset the board to accommodate the additional player. While they finished setting up, Juliana glanced at John and Danny in the living room. They prattled on about baseball, about players, pitchers, and coaches old and new.

John had said they’d been deployed together. Had Danny existed in her timeline? Had he and John been friends in that world, too? What had happened to Danny? Had John helped him escape the Nazi occupation?

The cold, potent stare of the Reichsmarschall held her thoughts captive for several long, painful seconds, and Juliana once again fought back the urge to be sick.

No. If Daniel had existed in her world, then he was surely dead.

“Juliana?”

She looked up into Thomas’s bright face. “Hmm?”

“You’re up.”

Pushing away all thoughts of packed cattle cars, Nazi death camps, and the unbidden image of Danny being shot in the back of the head, she took her turn.

x-X-x

“Our apologies for being too caught up in our discussions,” said Danny. “You’d think we’d get tired of it.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. We had a good time, didn’t we?” said Juliana, glancing around at the Smith children.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

“I’ll be leaving early in the morning, but maybe next time I’m in town, we can all catch up over some coffee?”

The idea of sitting around drinking coffee with John and Danny, knowing that their friendship had likely met a bloody end in her timeline, was less than inviting.

“Maybe. Yeah.”

“One of us can drive you home,” offered John. She had been dropped off by a new acquaintance named Russ, whom she’d shared a few meals with at the diner.

She didn’t enjoy the idea of being in a car with John again.

“I don’t want to interrupt your visit.”

“I can take her,” said Thomas.

“Oh, can we go, too?” said Amy.

Jennifer straightened. “Please, Daddy?”

He mulled it over for a brief moment. “I don’t see why not. It’s just down the road. Thomas, I trust you to drive carefully with three ladies in the car?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Well then, it’s settled,” said John with a lift of his brows before he gestured to the door with a smile. “Miss Crain, your chariot awaits.”

“Oh, Juliana,” said Danny. “Before you go, I just wanted to ask… John has told me you’ve been through quite a lot recently. I wondered if it would be alright if I said a prayer for you.”

Her eyes flitted between the two men. She could envision John in Nazi regalia turning his back on his friend, Danny begging for mercy from the man he trusted before the sound of a gunshot silenced him.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, and she wondered what he’d read in her expression. “I don’t mean to overstep. I just thought—”

“No, it’s fine.” She shook the images from her mind, also pushing away the memory of finding out Frank’s sister and her kids were dead. She forced herself to meet Danny’s gaze. “I’d be honored.”

Tears threatened to betray her as he chanted in Hebrew, words her heart could comprehend even if her mind did not. She fought the urge to embrace Daniel as she thanked him and said her goodbyes before following Thomas and the girls to John’s car.

“Are you okay?” asked Jennifer, who had slowed to walk beside her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Juliana, smiling back at her and appreciating the wonderful human beings she and her siblings were growing into here.

“I call the front seat!”

“No, Amy,” said Thomas. “Juliana will sit up front.”

“Fine, but I’m sitting up front on the way back.”

It was only a five-minute drive across town to her apartment, but Juliana was swept back into light-hearted antics as Thomas and the girls taught her new songs. Soon even she could sing along.

“Yankee Doodle went to town  
A-riding on a pony.  
Stuck a feather in his hat  
And called it macaroni!

Yankee Doodle, keep it up,  
Yankee Doodle dandy!  
Mind the music and the step  
And with the girls be handy!”

By the time they reached her apartment, Juliana had almost forgotten her earlier distressing thoughts. The emotional roller coaster should have given her whiplash, but after two years of finding herself in one extreme scenario after another, she’d learned to roll with it and take the good times when they came. At least in this timeline, she could be grateful for the Smith children for making her stay in this world bearable.

That night in her dreams, Juliana watched the Reichsmarschall sob silently as he knelt on the upturned dirt of a mass grave.

x-X-x

John sat at his desk, reviewing various requests with a quick, discerning eye before either signing them, declining them, or asking for additional information before they could be approved. There seemed to be no end to the paperwork, and not for the first time in the last few months, he was grateful for the mind-numbing distraction.

Major Metzger entered, giving the ritualized salute before approaching the Reichsmarschall.

“Yes, Major?”

“Sir, we’ve scoured the state of Pennsylvania with no sign of Wyatt Price and the other members of the Resistance that were with him. We have patrols in Maryland, West Virginia, and Ohio, but they could be well on their way to the Neutral Zone by now.”

To continue the search or not? There were any number of directions in which the terrorists could have fled, but they weren’t likely to stay in the GNR with bounties on their heads. They would return once they thought they had a plan that could outsmart him. It would be their mistake.

“Call off the patrols and redirect them to the Neutral Zone. It’s the only safe place for the Resistance to hide in plain sight. I want them found, Major, and I want to know what they’re up to, how much they know.”

“And what of Juliana Crain?”

“What about her?”

“So far, she has yet to be found. Though it’s…puzzling how she managed to…escape.”

 _Escape._ If only the Major knew the truth. Hell, John himself still couldn’t fully comprehend it.

_“She did it, didn’t she?” John expertly hid his annoyance at the satisfied smirk on Abendsen’s face. “By God, she figured it out. She outsmarted you, John. What are you going to do now? It’s not like you can use your fancy little portal to go after her—not without knowing if you exist in that world, or if you died there.”_

He knew the truth, as much as he wanted to deny it. Juliana, like the girl who’d gone through the portal, was anything but ordinary. And if she’d gone to another world, she wouldn’t return so soon.

Oh, she _would_ return, of that he was certain. The meddling little bird, always derailing his best laid plans while playing the helpless victim. When she finally resurfaced, it would be on her terms, and she would once again throw the Reich into a frenzied wild goose chase while she and her friends in the Resistance strategically attempted to put chinks in the armor of the GNR.

“Forget Juliana Crain.”

The Major frowned in confusion.

“Finding Wyatt Price and any of his associates in the Resistance will be our top priority. If she has no allies, Miss Crain won’t be a threat when she eventually comes out of hiding.”

“Yes, Sir.” The Major clicked his heels, turned, and left.

x-X-x

The ding of the elevator echoed through the empty apartment long after its doors had slid closed. He stood in the hallway for several moments, waiting for the sounds of hurried feet and excited greetings.

Not today.

He resisted the habit of calling out a hello. No one waited for him. No one cared.

His boots on the dark, clean tile sounded loud and heavy. His ears still rang from the noise even when he stepped onto the carpet of his bedroom. Deftly, he removed his uniform only to find himself standing idly in the hollow space that had never really felt like a home. Nonetheless, it now felt cold and barren.

The sick feeling in his gut was becoming uncomfortably familiar. He marched across to his office. Work. Always work to distract him.

For a while, he could pretend life went on as it always did. Papers, reports, plans, orders, classified documents, intelligence on the movements of people whom the GNR needed unequivocally to keep tabs on.

But the pit in his stomach still gnawed at him with increasing intensity. Perhaps he should have stayed at the office.

He leaned back in his chair. Maybe a cigarette?

He exhaled sharply and picked up the phone. Hope and nervousness battled within him with each turn of the rotary, each long ring without answer.

The click.

“Hello?”

“Hank.”

A pause. “Hi John.”

“Can I uh… Can I speak to Helen?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The wait made him antsy. He tapped his fingers against the desk, tried not to count the quiet ticks of the clock on the wall.

“Hello.”

He breathed a little easier.

“Helen. How are you?”

A pause. “I’m fine.”

He nodded, another habit. “Ok. I’m glad to hear it. And the girls?”

“I think being on the farm is good for them.”

“Hmm. I miss them. I worry about their safety—about your safety.”

He heard the huff, could almost see the eye roll. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine considering you’re having us watched.”

“The threat to our family hasn’t gone away since you’ve been gone, Helen. If anything, it’s increased the need for more security around you and the girls.”

“It’s not the same out here, John. There’s space, room to breathe. There aren’t potential spies around every corner. God, it’s a farm!”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Helen, I want you to come home.”

Another cold, frosty silence. “Well you can’t have _everything_ you want, John.”

_Click._

He continued to hold the receiver to his ear for several long moments before he forced his reluctant arm to hang it up. He scrubbed his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting for the nightmare to end. When he opened them again, he was met only by the quiet, empty apartment. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, lips pursed behind clasped hands.

His mind went numb; blank—his entire existence a mess of scattered pieces that had become so mangled he couldn’t put them back together again. He no longer knew who or what he was, let alone how to be anyone or anything different. Everything he’d known—or thought he’d known—had turned to dust, flowing like sand through his blood-stained fingers.

He couldn’t go backward. Helen’s refusal to return to the Reich hammered that truth home painfully. They’d been on a downward spiral since news of Thomas’s illness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if she would just come home, they could pull through. He wracked his brain for something else, another solution, but he couldn’t see one. The path he walked remained the only path forward, because if he deviated from it, there would be hell to pay.

He’d come so far, made so many sacrifices to keep his family alive and well. So why did it feel like all his efforts were in vain? Where did he go wrong? What misstep had he made? What miscalculation had thrown off his carefully constructed safety plans? He’d taken every precaution imaginable to ensure that they were fool-proof.

The clock struck nine. The girls’ bedtime.

Perhaps he had been the fool.

No. No, he could fix this, if only she’d give him the chance. She had to trust him, or else—or else—

The small portrait of Himmler stared back at him from beside his office door, those beady eyes full of a sickening arrogance that made John want to gouge them out of his stunted, pudgy little head.

A cold, prickling fire ran down his spine, a warning that he and his entire family could be shot dead for such treasonous thoughts.

He shoved out of his chair and walked into the living area, making his way to the sideboard to pour himself a drink. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, the expansive windows allowing the city to illuminate the apartment just enough.

He hadn’t wanted any of it. He still didn’t want it. But he had it. Helen could galivant across the country to the Neutral Zone to play pretend on that little farm in Montana with her hick of a brother, but this was their reality. She couldn’t run from it any more than he could, and it angered him that she thought she could try. It angered him more that she had taken the girls with her, out of his reach, where he couldn’t set eyes on them, couldn’t protect them from those who would do them harm simply because they were his children.

He swirled the dark liquid in his glass, letting out a breath through his nose. She needed her space, time to think. He could understand that, and he would respect it, for now. Perhaps if she had some time to clear her head, she would be able to think rationally again and return home.

The diluted wail of a siren on one of the streets below seemed to intensify the silence in that lonely apartment. He peered around at the furniture, the television, the knick-knacks and picture frames. All just things he never asked for.

He gulped down the last of his whiskey and plunked the glass back down on the counter. He didn’t so much as glance at the kitchen as he rounded the corner and headed for the bedroom.

He stripped out of his shirt and pants, replacing them with his pajamas. He stepped into the adjourning bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth before padding over to the bed and crawling into it.

John had been a family man for so long, he hadn’t imagined life as a bachelor. Lying there in the dark, he knew this was worse. The echoes of an entire life lost surrounded him.

He rolled to his back, stared up at the ceiling. The Swastika above his head should have sickened him, but it didn’t. It was just an image after all, and it was everywhere.

_Everywhere._

His stomach did churn then, and he rolled back onto his side. Another one sat on his nightstand. He closed his eyes against the feeling of being watched, judged as he lay there alone, his wife having abandoned him, throwing them under unnecessary scrutiny and certain danger.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the whisky to soothe the tension in his body and mind, and he fell asleep, unburdened for the next several hours—until he had to wake up and do it all again.


	3. Fellowship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure not to skip over any scenes or dialogue that overlap with the show. There are numerous changes.

The rush of the leaves simulated the sound of the ocean, the autumn breeze coming through her open window to brush her cheeks and the skin of her arms and hands as Juliana sat on her meditation mat in her living room. Birds chatted candidly, the muted hum of cars passing somewhere down the road her only reminder of her current location in a time and place quite different than where she’d come from.

She had decided to take her meditation training slower, but still in earnest. Earnest because she wanted to be able to connect with the spiritual forces at work between the worlds at will, and slow because she didn’t want to slip back into her own timeline prematurely. When she finally returned, she would be in control of the situation, and of her own fate. Never again would she allow herself to be caught, at the mercy of those who stood in the way of peace and order and the goodness within mankind.

Hearing the car roll up, the engine cut out, and the opening and closing of the car door, she pulled herself gently back into the world around her. She rose from the mat, reaching the door before her visitor had even knocked.

“Hello Thomas.”

“Hi Juliana. I just thought I’d stop by. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, of course not. Come on in.”

The word ‘apartment’ didn’t quite describe the little white, one-bedroom house she rented on a side-street in town within walking distance to the library. It was much homier than the dark, dreary underground apartment she’d shared with Frank. That had been little more than a basement, though at the time, it had felt like a dream of its own. Just her and Frank living an existence they’d thought of as peaceful until they realized they’d simply been living in complacency under the rule of the Pons, keeping their heads down and hoping not to be noticed.

Here, the sun shone through the many windows that dwarfed the walls they sat in, and she could see the greens, blues, reds, and yellows of the natural world beyond the manmade buildings. She didn’t have to feel like a rat hiding in a hole to avoid death by poison or predators. She didn’t have to scurry from one hole to the next. She could live her life, open the doors, the windows, smell the earth, taste the air, feel the sun and the rain and the life they gave.

Experience true freedom, despite her plans to go back to a world in shackles.

“What’s the mat for?”

“Meditation. It’s good for the body and for the mind.”

“So I _was_ interrupting something.”

She shook her head with a reassuring smile. “No, I always welcome your company, Thomas. Would you like something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks,” he said, taking a seat on the sofa. Juliana got herself a glass of water, joining him a few moments later.

“How’s school?”

“It’s good.”

“Are you excited to graduate this year?”

“Definitely. A little nervous, though.”

“Hmm. Nervous. Why is that?”

“Well…honestly, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh. Go on.”

“Umm… Well, a recruiter came to the school a few weeks ago, and some of the things he said really got me thinking that I kind of want to go into the Marines.”

“I see. And how do you feel about that?”

“I mean, I don’t like the idea of war or anything, but my parents always told us that the best things in life are worth fighting for. What we have here in America is…special. I want to preserve it, and I want others to be able to experience it, too.”

He continued, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know a lot of people disagree with the war in Vietnam, but…I don’t know. I don’t think it’s right for a government to treat people like that—to attack other human beings for disagreeing with them, and to force their oppressive ideologies on others.”

He paused, and Juliana could see the emotions play out across his face as he gathered his next words. “My mom died just…just trying to stand up for people who are never given a voice. It’s not perfect here since we still treat folks that way, but if people like my parents can work to make a difference here, why shouldn’t we try to make a difference somewhere else, too?”

Juliana hadn’t noticed much difference between this Thomas and the one from her own timeline in the few months she’d been in the alt world. Both versions were sweet, idealistic, well-mannered young gentleman. Not until now did Juliana see the stark opposition of their values and beliefs, ideologies ingrained in them simply because the tides of history had dealt them different hands. The recognition of possibilities missed was a dull ache in her breast.

“Seems like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“I have.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He shrugged, studying the area rug beneath his feet. “My dad was in the last war, but he doesn’t talk about it. I don’t know if he’d be proud or disappointed.”

Instinctively, she ran her hand along his arm in a mothering gesture. “I don’t think he could ever be disappointed in you.”

Thomas didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well…you’ve still got plenty of time until graduation. Time to think. Time to talk to your dad about it.”

“Do you think he’ll be angry with me?”

“Mm, maybe scared, as most parents are when they’re afraid their son won’t come home, but I don’t think he would be mad.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Maybe he’ll understand. You won’t know unless you talk to him.”

“I guess you’re right,” he nodded. He glanced around as though ready to switch topics. His eyes landed on a book on the side table. He picked it up, his brows furrowed.

“ _The Essence of…Ai-ki-do?_ What’s that?”

“A form of martial arts.”

“So…fighting?”

“It’s about defense. About using an opponent’s strength against them without harming them.”

“Definitely not something they’d teach you in the Marines.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s definitely not compatible with military ideology.”

He flipped the book over and scanned the back. “Seems interesting though. Do you practice it?”

“Yeah, I uh…I went to a Dojo for lessons back in San Francisco.”

“We don’t have anything like that around here. I wouldn’t mind learning.” He turned to her abruptly. “Hey, why don’t you teach a class?”

She rolled out a shrug. “I…wouldn’t think there’d be that much interest in Eastern philosophy and martial arts here.”

“You never know. Kids are always looking for stuff to do. I’ll be your first student,” he grinned.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll have to think about it.” She tapped his leg with her foot teasingly. “You’d better get home for dinner. You don’t want to make them wait for you.”

“Yeah, for sure,” he said getting to his feet. “I am kind of hungry.” He still had the book in his hands. “Would it be ok if I borrowed this?”

“Sure. I trust you to return it.”

“You’ll think about it, then? A class?”

She laughed, setting her water glass aside before standing. “I suppose.”

He smiled, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Thanks for listening, Juliana.”

“Anytime.”

She returned the hug he reached out for, wondering if she should love the boy as much as she did. It was as though someone had hit a reset button, giving him another chance to live his life to its fullest potential.

More personally, it was as though her own child had returned from the dead. Thomas had been gifted with a beautiful soul, and Juliana had made sacrifices to preserve the life of such a wonderful boy in the hopes that his innocence could be saved. The decision to kill George Dixon had fundamentally altered the way in which she saw herself and her role in destroying the violent, corrupted systems that kept good people from truly living the lives they were meant to live.

This Thomas stood out for Juliana as a beacon of hope, a reminder of what she continued to fight for. And right or wrong, she loved him.

x-X-x

After much thought on the subject, Juliana couldn’t come up with a reason not to teach an Aikido class. With the winter months ahead of them, kids would be forced to find more indoor activities to occupy their time, and Aikido and Eastern philosophy were two of her passions. What better way to enjoy her stay in this alternate world than to combine it with things that already gave her a sense of happiness and inner peace?

The small town didn’t have much within its perimeters, but it did have a dance studio that the owner agreed to rent to Juliana for her classes for two hours twice a week. Alongside their brother, Amy and Jennifer were quick to share their interest, if for no other reason than to have an excuse to see Juliana, who they’d come to view as a friend and mentor. Along with teaching the defense and philosophy of Aikido, Juliana also promoted the practice of meditation at the beginning and end of each class.

Although many of the parents scrutinized these Eastern practices with uncertainty and raised eyebrows, they nevertheless deemed them harmless as long as they kept their children out of mischief. A few curious adults asked to join the lessons on occasion, and Juliana happily agreed.

Aikido provided Juliana not only a way to continue her own self-care routine regularly, but also a sense of connectedness to the community that she hadn’t found before. Working at the library had helped, but she’d still been an outsider, a source of gossip and mystery. While the people in the town of Bailey’s Crossroads didn’t quite know what to make of her, Juliana’s classes gave her the chance to begin making friends outside of the Smiths and her occasional mealtime buddy, Russ.

“Shaking up the town, aren’t you?” said Russ as they sat at the diner for breakfast before she started her day at the library.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Eh, it doesn’t take much to shake up a small town. We gawk at a new stop sign—what else do we have to talk about?”

“I guess I’m used to frequent changes, living in a city my whole life.”

“Ugh, I don’t know how you stomached it.”

“It’s not that bad. Though I like it out here. It’s quiet. Uneventful.”

“Some would call it boring. My cousin from Richmond came to visit a couple of years ago, drove him absolutely crazy. He swore he’d never come back.”

“I think that’s the beauty of traveling: you get to experience everything without ever feeling like you’re stuck in any one place.”

“Is that what you did? How you got here? Traveling?”

She sipped her orange juice. “Sort of.”

“Well, I know we don’t have too much going on around here, but there is supposed to be a band at The Scupper Friday night. Nothing too exciting, but…”

“Are you asking me to go with you?”

He shrugged. “I guess. You know, as friends.”

“It’s not like I can say I’m busy, can I? Since there’s nothing else going on in this town.”

They laughed quietly together, and Juliana was reminded of Frank and Ed, Wyatt and Joe. It seemed funny that she hadn’t met many trustworthy women on her journey across the country and across two worlds. Caroline had come the closest, followed strangely enough by Lucy. She couldn’t quite place Helen on a scale of trustworthiness.

In the few months she’d been there, Juliana had been able to get her driver’s license and a beater-up vehicle. She didn’t trust it to take her on any road trips, but it was sufficient for putting around town so she didn’t have to bum rides from Russ, or Thomas, or Lord forbid, John.

Regardless, Russ insisted on picking her up Friday night since they were headed to the same place. A good many people had piled into the mom-and-pop restaurant and bar by the time they arrived. He introduced her to a few of his friends, and she slipped easily into playful banter with them all. For a time, she could pretend she lived a simple life in Virginia without a care in the world, sharing drinks and dances with normal, everyday people her own age.

Her brief fantasy didn’t last long, her body hyper aware of John as he came through the door with a couple of buddies from work. She had become more accustomed to his benign presence, her mind having learned to differentiate him from memories of the Reichsmarschall most of the time. Having been forced to occupy the same small town, she’d finally stopped flinching whenever they happened to brush against one another, and her heart no longer leapt into her throat when he spoke. She could now hear the difference in tone and intent, alt-John’s voice sincere and lacking any threat or authority characteristic of the powerful Nazi agent.

In short, it no longer bothered Juliana to see him or to share the same physical space. Her knee-jerk reactions had dulled significantly, but his presence reminded her of the bizarre existence she wandered through.

She attempted to ignore him to the best of her ability, keeping her head turned toward the little group of Russ’s friends and acquaintances, engaging pointedly in their discussions. They only barely distracted her, her body acting as a compass, so attuned to John that she didn’t need to use her eyes to ascertain his location within the confines of the crowded bar.

The timeline didn’t matter: John Smith had a way of commanding attention regardless of whether or not he held a position of power.

“Hey, Russ!” said a pretty blonde as she sauntered up to their little circle. “I haven’t seen you around much. Been busy?”

“Ah, you know. With the cold weather coming, everyone’s vehicles are deciding they’d rather move down south.”

“Mine’s holding up so far, knock on wood.” She turned to Juliana. “You’re the new librarian, right?”

“That’s right. I’m Juliana.”

“Stella,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

“Care for a dance, Russ?”

“Uh, sure. Oh, you don’t mind, do you?” he said to Juliana.

“No. We’re just here as friends, remember?” she teased. He grinned.

“Man, that’s messed up,” said Ben jokingly. “You just gonna let him leave you like that?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Sure,” said Jake. “We got your back though, if you need something and Russ proves himself unreliable as always.”

“Hey, don’t listen to these bozos,” said Leanne, a sassy girl with dark hair styled in a pixie cut. “Between you and me, they’re all a bunch of pansies. We girls can stick together.”

“Ohhh, you’re really going to be mean like that?” said Jake. “Harsh.”

“Good evening, Miss Crain.”

She’d felt his approach, wondering if he’d bother to stop and talk to her, or if he’d move around her to chat with other locals. Coolly, she turned around to acknowledge him.

“Evening, John,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“I see you’re finally getting a taste of the night life around here.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty exciting.”

He laughed. She wondered if the Reichsmarschall had ever genuinely had an occasion to laugh.

Russ’s friends had continued their chatter behind her. Juliana’s circle had shifted, shrinking to only encompass herself and John. She teetered on the edge between casual ease and discomfort. The flutter in her stomach as he gave her his full attention pushed her more toward the side of discomfort.

She felt relief as he glanced back to Ben, Jake, and Leanne, then over to Russ, who swung Stella around the dancefloor.

“You’re quite the judge of character. Russ’s is a good guy. They’re all a decent bunch, really.”

“Glad you approve.”

“I mean, not that it matters to me who you spend your time with. I only meant—”

“Relax, I was just making conversation.”

She could hear the others pairing off for a dance or two.

“I didn’t intend to interrupt your socializing.”

“It’s fine. I can handle a few minutes alone.”

He glanced at the bar patrons as they shifted from a quick step to slowly sway around the floor at the song change. He looked back to Juliana.

“You don’t have to. What do you say, Miss Crain?” he said, offering his hand. “Would you do me the honor of a dance since it seems I’ve ruined your chance for another offer this go round?”

She found his trepidation strangely endearing, knowing John was still acutely aware of her unease around him. That emotion unnerved her, but she couldn’t think of a valid reason to decline.

“Umm…yeah.” Hesitantly, she took it, and he led her without hurry onto the floor. It was strange…awkward. But then, everything else had been. She tried to quiet her quickening heart as he placed his hand at her waist. His shoulder felt large and imposing beneath her palm. 

“So, not a fan of country music?” He teased, then whispered, “To tell you the truth, neither am I.” He smiled. “When you’re a New York City boy in Virginia, you gotta get used to it.”

The light in his eyes shouldn’t have given rise to the heat beneath her cheeks.

“How is it that you wound up here?” she asked, partly in curiosity and partly out of desperate attempt to distract herself from unwanted thoughts.

“Bailey’s Crossroads?”

“Yeah, this place, all of it, the hardware store, I don’t know. What is it you wanted?”

John continued to turn her in a slow circle as he mulled over his words. Juliana became more disquieted at how safe and normal it felt to be so close to him.

“Umm… Well I guess when I was younger, I wanted to be like my dad, like most boys. He was a…he was a banker. Wall Street.”

“Well, you’re a smart guy.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving.”

“You could’ve been a banker. That’s what I meant.”

He frowned, thinking back. “Oh, it didn’t end up so well. The Depression. And then with me, uh…well the war happened…and life kind of…got in the way.”

“Hmm. As it does.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I count myself lucky. For all of it. Things have a way of working out for the better, even if we don’t always see it at the time. After the war, I became a traveling insurance salesman, if you can believe it. But when Helen died, I took the job at the hardware store so I could be home for the kids. It doesn’t pay as well, but my family has always been my proudest accomplishment, and I’ll never regret the time I spend with them.”

Juliana had been around the Smiths in her own world enough to know that both Johns shared the quality of prioritizing family above all else. John and Helen had both impressed upon her the importance of not revealing the truth of Thomas’s condition to anyone, despite their high position in Reich society. Juliana had been certain that if she’d spoken a word about Thomas to anyone outside the Smith household, John wouldn’t have hesitated to see to her immediate end, her potential usefulness to any of his other plans be damned. 

“So, uh…tell me Juliana.” The momentary flutter in her belly at his use of her given name halted instantly as he turned her own question back at her. “How’d you end up here?”

_Bang._

“You were there, don’t you remember?”

“Yes. But I mean, before that. You said you don’t remember anything about what happened to you. Is that true?”

“I remember.”

His expression became solemn, all trace of good-natured conversation and teasing erased.

“So, you know where he is then. The man who shot you.”

His face morphed again in her mind. That intense, intimidating stare that demanded obedience and communicated a thinly-veiled threat if one chose to defy his implicit commands.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you tell someone?” he pled gently, seriously. “If only to stop him from doing it to anyone else.”

“Tell who?”

“Well, the sheriff,” he said automatically, then added after a pause; “Me. I’ll help you.”

Images, memories, flashed across her awareness. Memories of the John Smith from her own world sponsoring her political asylum from the JPS; his efforts to keep her ‘safe’ merely an unmistakable disguise for his true motive to use her to advance his own agenda.

_“You’re very good at this role you play: the bird with the broken wing.”_

They’d used each other, and as expected, it had been John who’d come out on top, ready to dispatch her since she’d once again become a nuisance rather than a convenient tool for his own personal and political gain.

Juliana was transported back to their last conversation in that interrogation room. He hadn’t appreciated her successful attempt to twist the painful knife of Thomas’s death deeper into the heart she was sure he didn’t possess. So, he had ordered punishment for her insolence by way of electrocution.

Coming back to the alternate reality she found herself in, the arms of the man who currently held her in the circle of a slow, friendly dance felt like the iron jaws of bear trap. Those eyes were no longer soft with concern for her safety: they burned with a malice that wanted her dead.

She backed away, part of her surprised at the ease with which he released her. It didn’t matter. He was still the enemy, and she couldn’t forget everything he had done, even if it hadn’t really been him.

“Thanks for the dance, John,” she said coldly. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Juliana didn’t have to look at him to know he hadn’t moved, that his eyes followed her in confusion and uncertainty for several moments while she searched for Russ to take her home. She saw John drop his head from the corner of her eye as she walked past him for the door, Russ following closely behind.

“Something happen to make you want to leave so quick?” asked Russ in the truck when they’d gotten down the road a little way.

“No. I just…I feel tired, I guess. I’m sorry, I should have brought my own car so you didn’t have to leave.”

“It’s no big deal.”

They drove in awkward silence for a few minutes.

“So uh… You know John Smith pretty well?” he said, clearly trying to make conversation just to fill it.

Memories, on repeat.

Obergruppenfuhrer Smith draped in a white lab coat when she’d first met him at the GNR Embassy in the Pacific States. Feeling small in his presence in that room, and in his car as he drove her to her monitored apartment.

Standing in his house with the Reich wives upon his return from work on more than one occasion.

Opening her apartment door to be met with those scheming green eyes that bore into Juliana as he sat at the kitchen table to intimidate her into keeping her mouth shut about Thomas.

Sitting defiantly across from him in that interrogation room, having no regrets about needling him even when he rewarded her defiance with the order to have her electrocuted.

The loud bang produced by the bullet leaving the gun a split second before the slice of a foreign object passing through her chest left her floating in a world of pain and the tempting allure of death.

“No,” she said, watching the blurred darkness roll by through the rain-streaked window. “Not at all.”

x-X-x

Juliana didn’t see John at all the following week, and she wondered if he avoided her on purpose. Then again, she hadn’t sought him out either. She felt guilty for running out on him, as though her emotional upheaval had been his fault.

What could she expect when she knew that this John would likely have turned out just the same as the John from her own timeline if given the same set of circumstances? Just like Thomas, his identity hinged virtually on the flip of a coin, decided at a particular point in history.

She entered her meditation session the following Friday evening with her conflicting thoughts regarding the John in her current timeline weighing heavily on her mind. Spontaneously, she was given a vision from her studies of the I Ching. Upon returning to the present, Juliana searched for the corresponding book on the Chinese Oracle, flipping through its pages until she found the appropriate image.

 _Hexagram 13: Fellowship._ A sign that encourages human bonds and promotes openness. Relationships with others can be founded on deep connections, or they could be born of convenience and the mutual need for allies.

Sitting back in her desk chair in her bedroom, Juliana ran a hand through her hair. She couldn’t run from him forever. She’d found herself in this timeline for a reason.

She had nothing to fear from him in this world. He was her chance to see the other side of the John Smith she’d come to fear. What she needed to do with whatever understanding she might gain from examining him more closely, she didn’t yet know. But she thought it best to listen to the guiding hand of whatever strange twist of fate had brought her here.

Juliana plucked up the courage to call. He answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi, John. It’s Juliana.”

There was a pause in which she could feel his surprise.

“Juliana, hi. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah. I wondered if you and I could meet to continue our conversation.”

“Umm…Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. This evening, or…?”

“Meet you at The Scupper in half an hour?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

x-X-x

She sat at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee and flipping the cap on her lighter as she watched the door of the bar and restaurant, waiting. Punctual as always, he arrived precisely at 7:30. Juliana had been five minutes early.

“Hey,” he said, crossing the space to the table while removing his jacket. He slid easily into the seat across from her. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

John hailed the waitress for his own cup of coffee. He seemed wary, nervous, as though afraid he would say or do something that might upset her. She spoke first to break the tension.

“I’m sorry that I-I took off like that the other night—”

“No, it’s— I-I shouldn’t have pushed it. It was stupid of me.”

After putting some distance between them over the last few days, Juliana could hardly imagine that this man who occasionally stumbled over his words, and at times looked for all the world like a sheepish schoolboy, had become a ruthless Nazi in another life.

“With everything you’ve done for me, I think you’ve got a right to ask. It’s… It’s just hard to talk about.”

“I know. I know.”

He didn’t immediately meet her eyes, and she gathered her bearings, having thought through this conversation before inviting him there.

“Look,” she said without preamble. “This…man who shot me, uh…is extremely powerful.”

He did meet her eyes then, clearly not having expected her to jump right into it.

“So, what I’m trying to do, I guess, in a way is-is prepare. And…better understand what I’m up against since I’m gonna have to face him.”

“Well, listen,” he hastened to interject. “You don’t have to face anything alone, Juliana.” Her given name again. Had they moved passed formalities? “There’s folks here who can help. You know?”

“Well, that’s why I asked you here.”

He lifted his brows, surprised again. “Good.”

“In hopes that maybe you could…help.”

He shrugged, leaning back. “Well, I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night about wanting to be like your father…and the war getting in the way. What did you mean by that?”

Confusion passed briefly over his face, then uncertainty. He settled on a resigned acceptance. Perhaps he was willing to indulge her curiosity in the interest of fostering trust between them. He seemed to be seeking her trust more than anything, while his counterpart only ever sought compliance and obedience.

“Uh… Do you know what a battlefield promotion is?”

When she nodded, he continued.

“Well, it’s what happened to me. My unit was stationed in, uh, Mindanao. Philippines, and, uh, my CO got, uh…killed in action. I didn’t want the job, but, uh…but it…turned out I was pretty good at it. Good with the-the power, I guess, like my dad was good with it.”

And there the differences ended. Juliana pushed away the vivid memories of Reichsmarschall Smith, a man who was _too_ good with the power he’d been given.

“But uh…” There was a long pause as he looked away. “We-we did things, you know? We uh… We did things there that uh… that I-I wouldn’t be able to tell my kids about. That I couldn’t tell my wife about. You know? And I feel like, uh…if I’d stayed…then that job would have…would have grown into me.”

Yes, she knew. There was another long silence.

“Well anyway,” he cut in. “The war ended and I came back here. And I just knew I didn’t want a job that made me feel like that again. So here I am.” He lifted his hands, shaking his head. “How any of that can help you, I have no idea.”

“Well… This uh…this man was in the war, too. Your generation. Only he just kept on advancing long after the war was over, and I just…I just don’t know how you beat someone with that much power.”

John leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Well, listen, Juliana. I don’t know who this man is, but…but that’s all he is.” He shook his head, brows raised. “He’s just a man.”

There was another awkward pause. John chuckled. “That’s all I’ve got.”

She gave a quiet laugh in return. “Well, that’s enough.”

John leaned back.

She felt unbalanced, having dug deeper into his personal matters when she hadn’t allowed him more than a peek at her own. Trusting him enough to confide in him would take her a little more time, but she had to offer something in return to balance the scales.

“Well, before I go,” she said, lifting her eyes to his. “Thomas… You know he’s been thinking of enlisting, right?”

He exhaled sharply, running his fingers up the sides of his head and through his hair. “Yeah,” he said as a long-suffering sigh before folding his hands in front of his face. She could see the worry clouding his eyes. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”

Pausing, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Well…you know those things that you did in the Philippines that you couldn’t tell your family about? Maybe it’s time you told your son about them.”

He dropped his head, resting his arms on the table again as he considered. “Maybe you’re right.” After a moment, he looked back up at her. “Thank you.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. For being as patient with me as you are.” She glanced down at her coffee. “I know I don’t make a lot of sense, but…I just need time.”

She was startled at the warmth of his hand as it closed reassuringly over her own where it lay on the table. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his again, finding a different sort of intensity within them that created a warm pool low in her abdomen.

“Juliana, you know I would never hurt you.”

She shoved away those images of the Reichsmarschall, refusing to cave to the irony of his declaration.

“Yes. I do.”

“I-I won’t ask any more questions. It’s clear that whatever you went through was-was terrible, and…I don’t know when or…if you’ll ever feel comfortable enough to talk about it. But I’ll be right here if you need me.”

She told herself that only one John mattered at the moment; the one that sat right in front of her, genuine, sympathetic, honest, and trustworthy. It hadn’t been an accident that she’d landed in this timeline, directly in his path. It wasn’t some cruel joke. She’d been placed there for a reason. The reason was John.

Juliana nodded sincerely. “I know.”


	4. The Man and the Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just posted Chapter 3 like 2 days ago, so don't miss that one if you haven't seen it yet. 
> 
> Also, grab your box of tissues for this one. You've been warned!

Juliana sat at her desk, catching up on her alternate history by reading a book detailing the events leading up to the Cuban Missile Crisis. The Cold War seemed an appropriate topic considering the chilly October weather that had coaxed her into a grey cardigan and matching house slippers.

Having tuned out the noise beyond the house, she swung her head around when a knock came at her door. Thinking it could only be one of a handful of people, she pushed from her chair, making her way out into the living room.

John stood on the other side of the entryway, eyes downcast and looking as though he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

“I-I’m sorry to bother you, Juliana. I know I’m not your favorite person, and you’d probably rather I wasn’t here, but I need…I need to talk, and I-I don’t know who else to go to.”

“It’s okay,” she said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

He moved with wooden limbs, as though trying to hold himself together. She gestured toward the sofa, and he sunk down onto it. He dropped his head into his hands, shoulders trembling. His behavior was starkly at odds with how she’d conceptualized either version of him, and it left her unsettled.

Gently, slowly, she lowered herself onto the cushion beside him. Having no idea what to say or do, she waited. He ran his hands up over his face, through his hair, around his neck. Moved them between his knees. He clasped and unclasped them, fingers trembling, his eyes unable to focus. He tried to steady his erratic breaths with little success.

“I, uh…I talked to Thomas. I told him—tried to tell him—about…about the things I had done. He needed to know—I-I needed him to know. I did—I told him, the ugly reality of serving, the, uh…the things we did in the Philippines. I told him about my advancement, the-the decisions I made.”

He shook his head, over and over. Juliana listened.

“But-but I couldn’t tell him everything. I couldn’t. I can’t.” He wiped his hands across his face.

“Well…maybe he doesn’t need to know everything.”

He continued without looking at her, or at anything in particular, and she wondered if he’d even heard her. His hands moved with nervous animation.

“There was this boy—this Japanese boy. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. We found him, hiding in the jungle. He-he was thin and starving, all alone. Scared. Tears just ran down his face. Anyone who had been with him had-had starved to death. He wanted out. He wanted to go home, or anywhere but there. I was the commander at the time, so it was my decision. He-he begged me just to take him as a POW. He wasn’t Japanese anymore; he was just a boy, just a kid.

“I didn’t care. I was so full of hate, it didn’t matter. I had the power, he didn’t. It felt good, at the time, to have another object to unleash my anger on, to enact revenge for the death of my commanding officer. He cried, and cried, begging, pleading, and I, uh… I put a bullet…right between his eyes.”

His breathing ragged, she could hear his efforts to keep from breaking down entirely. Juliana looked away, her stomach churning at his confession. She felt sick, disgusted all over again. Yet she also felt compassion for the man who sat beside her, broken, flawed, carrying the weight of regrets kept hidden until now.

He scoffed humorlessly. “What could I do? I had to live with what I’d done. I had to keep doing it until the war was over, had to keep justifying more and more of the same acts of cruelty. I tried—I tried to leave it all on the battlefield, to bury it there, but it never goes away.”

He could no longer hold back his tears, staring out the window without seeing anything beyond it.

“When I think of that boy, I see Thomas. I see my son. And I feel sick. I hurt, the way his parents must have hurt when their son didn’t come home. Not because he’d died in battle, but because he was shot dead by a monster. A monster who’d looked him straight in the eyes as he begged for his life and pulled the trigger.”

_Bang._

He pressed his tightly clenched fist to his mouth, sharp, weathered cheekbones wet with his remorse.

He pushed from the sofa, taking three long strides to the window, keeping his back to her. She watched him as he stood there for several minutes, saying nothing, seeing nothing.

“Thomas wants to be like his dad. Like most boys. God, I don’t want him to be anything like me. I want him to be better. He _is_ better—so, so much better. It’ll kill him. It’ll ruin him.” He turned to her with a look of desperation and anguish. “Even if he doesn’t turn out like me, it’ll destroy his innocence. They’ll be nothing left of my Thomas,” He held his hands out as if cradling a baby. “My beautiful little boy.”

Without thinking, Juliana rose from the sofa and closed the space between them. At first, he stood unresponsive to the comfort she offered. Eventually, he returned her embrace, clinging to her as though he would crumble without her support, his mouth pressed against her shoulder to muffle the sobs that wracked his body.

He held onto her so long that her neck began to ache from remaining in that stance. She didn’t let him go until John himself pulled back.

“Juliana, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. God only knows what you’ve been through, and here I am dumping all this on you—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Jesus, what you must think of me…”

“I don’t think any worse of you, John. And anyway, what does it matter what I think? Your kids love you. They adore you. They look up to you—especially Thomas. Ok? That’s not going to change.”

“Fuck, they don’t even know me. They don’t know who I really am—”

“Who you really are is a father who loves his children. A father who would sacrifice everything for them. Ok, this is you, this John, who works at the hardware store to be with his family. Who raises his kids to speak up for the people who don’t have a voice. Who takes in a complete stranger on the side of the road and gets them help. Your life here is what matters, John.”

“It all matters, Juliana. Everything I’ve done is a part of me, and I can’t take it back. God, I wish I could take it back…”

“John, look at me.”

He struggled, but complied.

“That…right there…that’s what makes you not a monster. A monster doesn’t regret. A monster doesn’t know guilt or shame or remorse. A monster doesn’t choose to leave the power behind for this,” she gestured widely, indicating the life he lived now.

“Juliana,” he rasped. “I’m no better than the man who shot you.”

Her separate realities bled together again in an instant so that she stared back at Reichsmarschall Smith.

She fought the strong impulse to fling him away from her and bolt out the door. Her own words replayed in her head, and she asked herself whether she wholeheartedly believed them: whether she believed that the John she currently stood face-to-face with, the John she’d wrapped her arms around, compelled by compassion borne of their shared humanity, represented the true core of John Smith in every timeline.

Juliana didn’t have the time to contemplate the complicated web of thoughts, memories, and emotions his statement had elicited in her. Right then, the past didn’t matter: only the present. He’d come to her, seeking a listening ear absent of judgement, and she understood clearly that she held this John’s fragile heart and his mind in her hands.

She could read everything in those transparent eyes. He thought he deserved to be crushed by her judgement, but he silently begged her for mercy, just like that boy had begged.

In that moment, he was no different than Thomas.

She held his gaze, daring him not to look away.

“Yes, you are.”

He stared back into her eyes. She nodded once, letting him absorb her simple declaration.

She pulled him to her again, soothing him with a hand along his back. His body and breathing quieted. He relaxed in her arms, his hands resting against, rather than clinging to her.

Vulnerability met with compassion gave testimony to their shared humanity. Only Juliana understood the full weight and gravity of the moment as they floated there, superseding time and space across the multiverse. It asked the largest, most important, most incomprehensible questions about the nature of men, and the dichotomy of good and evil.

x-X-x

Juliana lay awake for hours, her mind spinning with questions for which she had no answers.

Did the Nazi John Smith think and feel the same way his counterpart did? Was the man who fell apart in her living room like a frightened child what lay beneath the impenetrable mask of the Reichsmarschall?

Alt John had said that if he’d stayed in the military, the job would have grown into him. The GNR was a military-run state, and in that universe, John had chosen to become a part of it.

But why? There were any number of Americans, military personnel or otherwise, who had resigned themselves to the Nazi occupation without signing up for the SS. What was the missing link?

Unable to reconcile these questions with her own experiences, Juliana rolled out of bed with a meager three hours of sleep. She’d only gotten _that_ much because she slept later than usual. She managed a five-minute meditation session before making a cup of coffee to go, and heading to work.

Cynthia, the cleaning lady, typically came in early each day, so Juliana never had to unlock the door to the library. When she entered, she stopped short upon quickly noticing the flower arrangement that sat on her desk. Walking round it to hang her coat on the back of the chair, she sat down before gingerly taking the little card that came with the flowers. It said simply:

_‘Thank you for listening. – John’_

Tired, confused, reeling from an existential crisis, Juliana didn’t know how to feel as she sat numbly, holding the card in her hand. She had things to do, books to sort and shelve, overdue materials to tally. Placing the note in her purse, she moved the vase to the corner of her desk and went about her day.

She breathed a sigh of relief when her Aikido class met that afternoon, and she was able to lose herself in the activities that helped to relax and rejuvenate her spirit. Juliana sensed that something was off about Thomas even before the class adjourned, and he asked his sisters to head out to the car and wait for him.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said, not moving from his seated position on the mat in front of Juliana.

“Ok, but hurry up,” said Jennifer.

“Yeah,” chimed Amy. “I’m starving.”

When she was sure they’d gone, she focused on Thomas.

“What’s on your mind?”

It took him several seconds to gather his thoughts. She waited.

“It’s about my dad. I had told him about wanting to join the Marines not long after you and I talked. He wasn’t happy about it, but we didn’t argue or anything. He just asked me to reconsider. But yesterday…well he told me some stuff. About some of the things he did when he served.”

“I see.”

“I mean it’s…it’s war…isn’t it? I mean, that’s what happens in war.”

Juliana nodded. She thought back to George Dixon, and other members of the Resistance, all the actions they were willing to take if it meant bringing down the GNR and the JPS. She thought of killing that man in Cannon City, of killing George Dixon—killing Joe, a man she’d once considered her friend.

“But I guess I hadn’t really thought about the specifics,” Thomas continued. “How hard it really is. I know he didn’t tell me everything. He looked…scared. I’d never seen him like that.”

“You know, Thomas…in war, in the military, you’re asked to do things that…that you wouldn’t normally do. Underneath it all, those soldiers, they’re all just…just people. Ordinary men and women who… Well, who are just like you. With families, friends—people who love them. Lives to live, dreams they want to achieve. Some of them believe in their cause, and…some of them don’t. Some are just trying to stay alive.”

He seemed to take a few moments to ponder her insight, his eyes studying the floor.

“Do you think war is ever justified?” he finally asked.

It took a moment before she could answer, only really able to draw on her own experiences. “I’m not sure. But, um…what I do know is… When backed into a corner…people will do whatever it takes to survive.”

x-X-x

In three short months, Wyatt Price had managed to make a fool of the Reichsmarschall. Somehow, he’d found a way to mass produce the film of the Allies winning the war and had begun distributing the copies across North America. Already, an increase in rebel dissent had become apparent in both the GNR and the JPS, and John now had an irate Himmler breathing down his neck to find and crush all members of the Resistance. Even that arrogant son-of-a-bitch knew that the Reich would have a major problem on its hands if those goddamned films caused an uprising.

Tapping his pen in agitation, John dismissed Major Metzger before ringing General Whitcroft.

“Tell me you have good news for me, Bill.”

“Well, if by good news you mean that we found and destroyed a stash of Resistance propaganda in Savannah, Georgia, then yes.”

“No Mr. Price?”

“No, but the Resistance members at that particular hideout have been effectively silenced.”

“Any new leads?”

“Well, uh… Yes, actually. Intelligence reports have pinpointed key locations of a supply chain coming down from Montana, through North Dakota, and into Minnesota. We have patrols in the area waiting for Resistance transit.”

“One of any number of routes,” John said sharply.

“We both know guerillas can be quite resourceful, John.”

“So, we cut off their resources. Find out where these films are being produced.”

“Already working on it, Sir.”

John’s split attention didn’t help matters. The crack of the whip at his back spurred him forward like a tired, beaten mule, but if he stopped, he’d find a bullet in his brain for his uselessness. His resentment toward Helen only grew with each day that passed without her return. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d relied on her and the girls for the strength to keep putting one boot in front of the other, day after day after day.

She refused to talk to him, but mercifully, she continued to allow him to speak with Amy and Jennifer when he called. He wondered how much longer he had before she tried cut him off from that privilege completely. If she did, it would be the last mistake she ever made, because John would take them from her. Helen could do what she wanted, but endangering the lives of their girls because she no longer valued their marriage was unacceptable.

“I miss you, Daddy,” said Amy when he called that night. “When will we get to come home?”

“Hopefully soon, honey. Are you taking good care of your mother?”

“Mm, not really. She’s making me mad. She doesn’t like when we talk about home very much.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“She says it’s better here. But it’s boring, Daddy! And it’s stinky!”

John had never enjoyed rural life filled with livestock that offended the senses either.

“Well, maybe some time on the farm can toughen you up a bit, hmm?”

“I guess… Though I don’t know what being tough has to do with being a woman in the Reich.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Your mother is one of the toughest people I know.”

There was a silence that conveyed her disagreement.

“I’ll be out to visit as soon as I can. Would you like that?”

“Yes!”

“Good. I love you, Amy.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.”

“Where’s your sister?”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “She’s been acting weird, too. But I’ll go get her.”

He waited more than a minute.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Jennifer. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

So much like Helen.

“Yeah? What have you been up to way out there in Montana?”

“I don’t know. Just helping Mom and Uncle Hank. Not much.”

“Well listen, I’m planning a visit soon. I’ve missed you so much.”

There was a pause. “Miss you, too, Dad.”

His heart dropped into his stomach, hearing the flat insincerity of her words.

“I love you.”

“You, too.”

_Click._

The new routine of his phone calls disturbed him more and more each time. Amy would renew his hope that he could pull the scattered remnants of his life back together. His shorter, tense exchanges with Jennifer put another crack in his certainty that couldn’t be mended.

He’d lost Thomas. He’d lost Helen. He was quickly losing Jennifer. Piece by piece, the perfect picture of his family was chipping away, shattering his heart along with it.

Sitting in the living room, smoking a cigar one evening, John found himself floating again, drifting lost in the rising sea of chaos. Everywhere her turned, sharks and serpents circled, waiting for him to drop a limb into the waters of the abyss in a moment of weakness so the carnivorous beasts could eat him alive.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?”

Bridget stood some paces behind the sofa, though he didn’t bother to turn round to face her. He’d hired her as a helping hand for Helen, and she’d sort of become a member of the family. On the outskirts, like a pet, perhaps (at least, that’s how John saw her). In Helen’s absence, John remained practical, retaining Bridget simply so that she could keep up with the cleanliness of the apartment since he had no time for such things within the confines of his busy workday.

He exhaled the smoke from the cigar.

“No, that’ll be all. You may go. Thank you, Bridget.”

She hesitated, as though she wanted to say more. She must have thought better of it. He heard her retreating footsteps followed by the ding and whoosh of the elevator doors.

Engines revved and car horns beeped far below. In a city swarming with people, he’d never felt more alone. He hardly ate anymore, just enough to keep him going. It tasted bland. Not just the food, but all of it. Even his cigars had been relegated to a mundane habit since he didn’t know how else to deal with the mounting pressure between his ears. At least he could say he’d never been disposed to become an alcoholic.

Abendsen’s taunting didn’t help. Since they’d forced him to produce content to discredit himself in order to get a few hours with his beloved wife Caroline, old Abe had taken every opportunity to twist the knife of his damnable existence deeper.

“You’re scared, John,” he needled, stopping his loony babbling long enough to break the illusion of being a lunatic. “It’s all falling apart, isn’t it? Otherwise, why would you keep me here reading this shit in front of a camera? You’re scared and desperate, that’s what you are.”

Abendsen tapped his middle digit to his temple. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the whispers. I guess you and I both know what it’s like to not be able to see our wives. The difference is, yours chose to leave you. Can’t imagine why. Can you?”

John leaned forward, his voice dropping several octaves. “Are you sure it’s wise to push me, Abe?”

The other man chuckled, shaking his head with a grin far too large for someone stuffed in a prison cell. “That’s the beauty of it. I don’t have to. You’re doing it all by yourself.”

“Look, Daddy!” He shouted suddenly, throwing his hands out and staring up at the florescent light as though talking to God. “Little Johnny’s riding without his training wheels! Aren’t you proud? Oh, happy day!”

John shoved to his feet and turned his back to the old man. “Cooperate for the recording today and I _might_ …consider letting you keep your visitation tonight. You’re on thin ice, Mr. Hawkes.”

“Aren’t we both?”

On the other side of the door, John hailed the guard walking down the hall toward him.

“Heil Himmler!”

“Heil Himmler,” John returned before stepping closer. “it’s, uh… It’s come to my attention that I’ve been a subject of discussion down here.”

The younger man gulped. “I…Sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Captain Gill, Sir.”

John nodded. “Captain Gill. Well, Captain, I trust that if you hear any such discussions, you will notify me immediately.”

“Yes, Reichsmarschall.”

“Good,” he said, moving past him. “Carry on.”

He already knew he was the talk of Berlin, and not in the favorable way. His blood boiled knowing there were rats sniffing around for crumbs right under his nose, spreading gossip like a disease.

Well, where there were rats, there were traps.

On the upside, Dr. Mengele reported substantial progress on the Die Nebenwelt project. He’d sent a few scouts through the portal to gather information on whether alternate versions of certain Nazi agents existed there. Once they knew who they could safely send back and forth through the gateway, they’d be able to send trained spies and agents through to gather intelligence that could be used to expand the Reich into the multiverse.

None of it appealed to John. None of the Reich’s plans anyway. His preoccupation with Die Nebenwelt lay solely in his desire to learn more about the alternate version of his son.

Was Thomas still alive in that world? Was he happy? Did he show any signs of disease? Did he play sports? Do well in school? Did he like the same foods, the same music? Did he have the same sense of humor? The same personality? In what ways would he be different, being raised in a free America?

Then, there were other questions: Had his and Helen’s marriage lasted in that world? What about Amy and Jennifer? Did they exist there, too? Did Amy still love him? Did Jennifer resent him? Was his family still together there?

What would he do if he found answers to these questions? Would they ease the pain of his loneliness? Would they make him angry? Resentful? Envious? Would they make him smile? Laugh? Cry?

He wanted to believe himself capable of experiencing the full range of emotions, but lately, all he knew was a deepening pit of anger, despair, and desperation.

x-X-x

The chopper landed in the barren field a few hundred yards from the farmhouse. He’d told Helen of his plans to visit, but it seemed no one else shared Amy’s enthusiasm that he would be dropping by.

“Daddy!” His little girl ran to him as he approached the house, flinging her arms round his middle.

He gathered her in his arms, relieved that he still had the ability to smile. Holding her felt like breathing for the first time in months, the tension that had been building steadily in his body easing. If he’d been a man given to tears, he would have cried at the tiny spark of joy deep in his chest. He kissed her forehead, looking into her sweet little face.

“I promised I would be out for a visit.”

“I knew you would. You always keep your promises.”

He cupped her small, soft cheek in his large, roughed hand, brushing his thumb against the corner of her upturned lips.

“I missed you. All of you,” he said, standing and glancing toward the house. Helen and Jennifer stood just outside the door, unmoving and unmoved. His uplifted mood was quickly tempered again.

He looked around at the largely empty landscape. He could see the cows out to pasture off in the distance to his right, could smell a mixture of earth, hay, and sweet grass. Hank and his wife Susan joined Helen and Jennifer at the door of the rugged old farmhouse.

He felt like an outsider. On the other hand, the whole damn thing was a farce. Helen dressed in little more than rags, the girls in country dresses. His gut churned, and he fought not to curl his lip in disgust.

Placing a guiding hand on Amy’s back, they walked down the dirt path to meet the others.

“John,” said Helen simply.

“Good of you to drop by,” said Hank.

“Yes,” said his wife. “It’s been so long. How many years?”

“Ten,” Helen supplied, looking pointedly at John. “Things were always so busy, we never had the chance to visit.”

The tension returned, multiplied.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” said Susan, her pleasant tone and genuine hospitality the only thing to break up the awkwardness. “Come on in. Come on, girls.”

Amy and Jennifer followed Susan and Hank into the house, leaving John and Helen alone.

“Helen,” he said casually. “You look good.”

Her frown deepened. “Save it, John. I know you hate everything about this place.”

He looked away in disbelief at her attitude. “I’m just here to see you and the girls. That’s it. Can we just sit down to dinner like civilized human beings? _Please?”_

She scoffed and turned away from him, walking into the house. Exhaling sharply, he followed.

Sitting round the table was an uncomfortable experience, but he was thankful that Helen had at least adopted a polite demeanor rather than throwing him disapproving scowls and snide comments at every turn. The girls asked him about work, to which he answered with minimal detail.

Though he had no interest in farm life and all the things it entailed, he preferred to let the girls talk about their misadventures in the middle of nowhere, Montana. It all seemed benign, at any rate (at least so far), even if their residence in the Neutral Zone had turned many heads in the Reich, including his own.

He helped tuck the girls in bed that evening, surprised and relieved to find genuine warmth in the hug he shared with Jennifer. Perhaps he hadn’t lost her just yet. Afterward, Hank and Susan left John and Helen in the dining room so they could speak privately.

“Why did you come here?”

He held out his hands. “What? Am I _not_ allowed to see the girls? They’re _our_ kids, Helen.”

She leaned her elbow on the table, running her hand across her face. “I know, John.”

“I haven’t seen them in months since you took off with them. Didn’t you even ask them what they wanted?”

“You didn’t! You never do! You never ask what we want! You just do it, because you can.”

“You know that’s not true. Ok? From the beginning, every decision we’ve ever made, we made it together.”

“Once upon a time. When Thomas got sick, you started keeping things from me. And once he was gone, you stopped talking to me altogether. You stopped confiding in me. You weren’t there.”

“Of course I was there.”

“Physically, but not emotionally. You didn’t care how I felt. You stopped being attentive. You stopped asking, or even listening. Don’t think I don’t know why. Apparently, the Reich thinks I shouldn’t be upset about the death of my son. And if I am?” She scoffed. “Well, then I’m crazy. I’m a traitor, I’m-I’m terrible for loving Thomas and missing him and wishing he was still alive! And all of that makes me a liability—to you, to them.”

“You think I don’t feel the same way? You think I don’t wish our son was still alive? That I don’t miss him every day?”

“You’re better at this game than I am, John. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. I’m not like you—I can’t pretend to be okay when my heart is broken. When I worry myself sick wondering when they’ll come after my girls.”

“No one is coming after the girls. I’ve made sure of it.”

“Can’t you see how…fucked up it all is? That you have to post guards around the farm so our daughters don’t get killed or kidnapped or taken to a hospital to be murdered like Thomas?”

He dropped his head into his hands. “Of course I do, Helen. If I had another choice—”

“You could order them off this farm.”

“I can’t do that.”

She sighed sharply. “You know, I came out here for fresh air, for freedom from all of that. It felt good. It felt like I could breathe for the first time literally in years. And then you took even that away. Now we’re in a bigger prison, but it’s still a prison. And you’ve trapped Hank and Susan in it, too.”

“Look, I’m working on some things, and if I’m successful, you and the girls will be able to return home, and it’ll go back to the way it was.”

“Damn it, John,” she growled through clenched teeth. “I don’t _want_ to go back there. I don’t _want_ it to be the way it was. If you want to fix this, then _fix it_. But there is no going back.”

She marched from the room, leaving him sitting there alone in that house he despised, wondering for the thousandth time where it all went so wrong.


	5. Thankful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was cranking out the updates pretty quick there, but now my mind wants to jump too far ahead too quickly, and I need to rein it in. Also, I got distracted by watching Victoria. I adore Rufus in that show as well! Anyway, enjoy!

During Thursday’s Aikido class, Juliana noticed that the tension within Thomas had lessened. She wondered if he and John had spoken any more, but she didn’t ask. Juliana, though, had yet to come close to reconciling her extensive thoughts surrounding the John paradox.

She’d meditated on it without developing any insights, which frustrated her. In the end, she decided it would be simplest to think of both versions of him as two separate people. Practically speaking, it was true. Yet she recognized that they represented two sides of the same coin. The fact that she’d landed in this universe, virtually at this John’s feet, gave testimony to the significance of that reality. What she was meant to do with that revelation, she had no idea.

On Saturday morning, the phone rang. Assuming it was Russ, possibly calling to ask if she had any plans for lunch, Juliana answered cheerfully.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Juliana.”

“Oh. Umm. Hello, John.”

“Listen, I know I kind of…uh… Well, I haven’t been around much this week. But I wondered if you and I could meet up, maybe at the park, just to talk about…what happened on Sunday.”

“Umm… Yeah. Sure.”

She could feel his nervousness and relief at her response through the silence over the phone.

“Ok, great. Uh… See you in…about an hour? At the covered bridge?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Juliana. Thank you.”

She stood there after they hung up, biting her bottom lip and trying to discern how she felt, how she _should_ feel. She didn’t feel fear or dread or repulsion, but didn’t feel anything necessarily positive either. Should she?

Deciding it didn’t matter as long as she didn’t possess strong feelings one way or the other, she got herself another cup of coffee before changing into a sweater and scarf that would be sufficient for a breezy day in the fifties.

He stood there, looking out across the reservoir as she made her way down the walking path to the covered bridge. Reaching his side, she leaned her arms on top of the wall and looked up at him patiently.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your plans for the day,” he said, watching a flock of geese muddle around in the water some distance away.

“I didn’t have any.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I don’t feel so bad, then.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“It’s the least I could do after…” He gave a sideways nod, a lopsided shrug. “Anyway, the card was lame: you did a lot more than just listen. Even now, I don’t really know…how to put it into words.”

Neither did she. They both watched the geese for a time before Juliana spoke again.

“Why me? I mean, you have lots of friends in this town. People you’ve known a lot longer. People you trust.”

His lips twisted briefly.

“Maybe I was afraid to disappoint them. Afraid they’d…see me differently. And you, umm…” He glanced down at his hands. “You didn’t really care for me too much anyway, so…”

“So, if someone was going to make a judgement about you, it might have been easier coming from someone you thought didn’t like you anyway. Or you were hoping to be judged because you thought you deserved it.”

She saw the flicker of confirmation cross his face, and she felt guilty for the way she came across to him. She hadn’t meant for her discomfort around John to make him think she could be his judge and jury.

“But you didn’t. I expected you to… I don’t know.” He glanced around, at the trees, at the sky, at the people walking along the trail. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.”

“I don’t dislike you, John. I mean, you’ve been wonderful. It’s just that…” It was her turn drop her eyes to the water below. “You remind me of things I don’t want to remember.”

Her words hung in the air. She could sense that they both wanted to take a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I-I should leave you alone—”

“No,” she corrected, looking back up at the geese. “We can’t spend our lives running from what scares us. And I think…I wound up here so you could help me not to be so afraid.”

They really looked at each other for the first time that day, and she felt an instantaneous change in their dynamic.

“Well, I’ll… I’ll try my best. You know, Juliana… I didn’t know I needed a…a friend like you.”

She relaxed, warmed, at his admission. The beginning of real trust. Juliana smiled.

“I guess that makes two of us.”

The smile he returned was one of relief, the tension in the air between them melting away. He dropped his gaze briefly, chuckled before returning his attention to her, his eyes filled with a sudden spark of innocent mischief.

“So…what is it about me that reminds you of this guy? Is it the chin?” He said playfully, gripping his mandible. “It’s the chin, isn’t it? It’s a powerful chin.”

She laughed—a genuine laugh—as she walked past him. He fell into step beside her, and they meandered down the path around the reservoir.

“So does this mean that we _are_ …friends then?” he asked more seriously, though with a lightness that hadn’t been present before.

“I suppose it does.”

“So you’re no longer…opposed…to being around me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes, though I can’t help but worry that I might…overstep. Scare you away again.”

“It’s not your responsibility to tip-toe around me. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

“Promise me something, Juliana?”

She glanced back at him.

“If I do…overstep—if you do feel uncomfortable at something I say or do, may I ask that you tell me? If-if you think I’m meant to help you overcome your fears, it’s only right that I’m aware of your limits.”

She thought about it, nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair. I’ll do that.”

They turned their attention back to the path ahead of them.

“I also want to thank you for being there for Thomas. I’d like to think he could talk to me about anything, but I suppose that’s too idealistic. There were some things I didn’t feel comfortable bringing up to my parents—especially if it had to do with them.”

“He looks up to you so much, I think he’s afraid of disappointing you.”

“I guess it’s a natural worry, but he could never disappoint me.”

“You know, he umm… He reminds me of someone, too.”

“Someone less scary I hope.”

“Mm. Just a boy like Thomas. He wanted to make his father proud, too.”

“And did he?”

She drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

“Well, he seems to be getting a lot out his Aikido lessons. To tell you the truth, I’m sort of hoping that he’ll take to it enough that he’ll decide not to join the Marines.”

“I thought the same thing myself, though I don’t entirely disagree with Thomas. Some things _are_ worth fighting for. I’m just not sure what to make of this war, whether it’s worth it or not.”

“From an objective standpoint, me neither. But I do know it’s not worth losing my son over.”

x-X-x

The reminders of her experiences with the John in her own timeline never left her completely, but it grew easier for Juliana to share alt-John’s company as she learned to separate the two. After their conversation on the walking trail, John stopped being so cautions around her, but Juliana didn’t mind since they’d agreed to work together to help her in overcoming the trauma that still haunted her from time-to-time.

They grew friendlier, taking walks around town, or sharing lunch together here and there. Juliana felt far less intimidated by the Smith home and agreed to attend a few more game nights at the kids’ behest. Without Danny present, John joined in on the fun while he and Thomas commented on the football games between taking their turns. Days like those almost made Juliana forget the worlds outside this one.

One such evening toward the end of November, John followed Juliana outside as she headed to her car. The kids were inside, picking up after a game of Scrabble.

“Thanks for having me over, John. I guess it’s becoming a routine.” An odd one. She wondered now about her sudden indifference to it all.

“I know the kids enjoy having you over. As do I.”

“I didn’t think I would, but…I’ve actually come to look forward to it.”

“Well…good. I’m glad to hear it.” A pause. “Umm… Listen, Juliana. I, uh…I hope I’m not out of line to ask this, but… Would you like to join us for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday?”

“Oh.”

Thanksgiving. The Reich had replaced it with Reichsgiving earlier in the year, and the Pons had dismissed the holiday as a relic of a bygone America. Many Americans in the JPS still celebrated it quietly since it hadn’t been outlawed there, but it nonetheless felt strange to have it mentioned so casually. Her family had sat down to celebrate it some years, but it hadn’t been an annual occurrence. Juliana didn’t know if she had anything to be thankful for anymore.

“I just thought, well, since you don’t have any family around here, you might…like the company. And the kids have sort of…adopted you, so you’re rather like family anyway.”

“That means I have to bring food to feed myself, right?” she said, smiling from underneath her lashes.

He chuckled. “Only if you want.”

“You’ve all done so much for me since I got here.” She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I’ll come. I’ll make a couple of things.”

She couldn’t help but think he looked far too happy about her answer.

“Wonderful!” he said. “I’ll, uh… I’ll call you tomorrow, let you know what we’re making.”

“Sounds good. Thanks again, John.”

Always the gentleman, he opened the car door for her, closing it once she’d climbed inside.

“Goodnight, Juliana.”

She thought she saw something sparkle in his eyes, but it left quickly, and she decided not to contemplate it as she drove away.

x-X-x

They planned for John and the kids to make the turkey, stuffing, and noodles while Juliana brought the potatoes, green bean casserole, and pies for desert: one pumpkin, one apple. It all seemed surreally mundane as Juliana worked in her kitchen, preparing the agreed upon dishes.

While cutting the apples, her movements slowed as she reflected on the strange situation in which she found herself: in an alternate reality after being shot in prison by a Nazi John Smith, cozying up to an all-American version of the Smiths, sans wife and mother Helen, and about to share a wholesome Thanksgiving meal with them that did not include her own family. Her sister was dead, the alternate version of her having gone back to her own world. Her mother was likely beside herself with worry over Juliana’s whereabouts and lack of communication. Frank, the man she had once thought she would marry, was God only knew where, and the pangs of guilt over having practically abandoned him returned. Prior to arriving in this America, the last meal she’d intentionally made for the sole purpose of sharing it with others had been during her time with Frank.

A wave of melancholy rolled over Juliana. She missed them. In a way, she missed her life of ignorance. Though she couldn’t get it back, she continued to fight for a better world for her loved ones.

At least, that’s what she thought she’d been doing. Was she becoming complacent again? Content to waste time pretending there wasn’t a war to be won? Hiding out in a fantasy where she no longer needed to look over her shoulder for threats from enemies and supposed allies alike?

Indeed, this world was easier, even if none of her loved ones resided in it.

_What about Thomas? Amy and Jennifer? Russ? Cynthia? The other children in her Aikido class?_

_John?_

After placing the pies in the oven, Juliana went to sit on the sofa, legs pulled up in front of her. Two hours until she had to be at the Smiths’, and the smell of food nauseated her.

Nerves twisted her gut as she dressed, and she told herself it was just like game nights, but with extra food. Nothing special. She glanced at her myriad of tomes and journals scattered across her bookshelves and her desk, her gaze landing on her meditation journal.

_Fellowship._

That remained her one and only guiding vision, and thus far, it hadn’t steered her wrong. At least, nothing terrible had come from its guidance. No, she hadn’t been lazing about, playing house in a fantasy land to avoid her problems. She had trusted fate to lead her, to show her whatever she needed to learn in this alternate world. Perhaps she should trust it a little longer.

Thomas and Jennifer met her outside when she pulled up along the curb. They greeted her with side-hugs, offering to help her take the food in.

“How about each of you grab a pie? That will help a bunch. Where’s Amy?”

“Helping Dad finish the noodles,” said Jennifer.

“More like eating them all,” said Thomas.

“I’m sure there will be plenty,” said Juliana, following them up to the porch. Thomas opened the door for them. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“Ah, just in time,” said John, carving the turkey as they carried the dishes into the kitchen, setting them on the counter. “We’ve just about finished up. Amy, sweetie, let’s save some of those noodles for dinner. Why don’t you go help your brother and sister set the table, ok?”

“Ok, Daddy. Can I sit by Juliana?”

“Sure you can,” Juliana replied. The little girl grinned up at her before darting into the dining room with a stack of plates. “Everything looks delicious.”

“Smells delicious, too. Especially those pies,” he said, setting down the carving knife. “Still warm, too! Can’t wait.” He turned to Juliana. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Our pleasure, as always.”

Once the table was set, the children formed a line to fill their plates before seating themselves. John and Juliana joined them a few moments later, and she found herself seated at the end opposite John again.

“Alright,” said John, tucking in his chair. “We all know what time it is. Let’s each go around and say something we’re thankful for. Thomas, would you like to start?”

“Yes, father.”

“Good.”

“Well, I’m thankful for this great country we live in, and the freedoms we have. I’m thankful for my family, and also to have Juliana here.” He smiled at her, and she returned it.

John nodded, taking his turn. “I agree with Thomas.” He looked around at his children. “I’m so thankful to have all of us here together. I’m thankful that we had your mother for as long as we did, and that her memory still carries on in all of us. I’m thankful that all my children are safe and sound and happy, and that we can enjoy this meal as a family.”

He turned to Jennifer to take her turn.

“I’m thankful for my family, too. I’m thankful you and Mom worked so hard to give us the house that we have, and that you make sure we have everything we need.”

“I’m thankful for Daddy,” said Amy. “He takes good care of us and tucks me into bed. He knows my favorite treats and lets me help in the kitchen. Oh, and I’m thankful for food.”

The others laughed.

“You would throw food in there,” said Thomas.

“Of course! It’s my favorite thing in the world.”

“I thought Dad was your favorite,” said Jennifer.

“Daddy’s not a thing,” Amy insisted.

“Alright, settle down,” said John through a chuckle. “Let’s let Juliana have her turn.”

All eyes settled on Juliana. She hadn’t known what to say, but she’d thought about it while listening to the others’ responses. No answer would remove the familiar feeling of being an imposter, sitting in Helen’s seat. She cleared her throat.

“I’m…thankful to be here. Life is Bailey’s Crossroads is a lot less complicated than where I’m from. It’s nice to have friends here,” she said, glancing at each of them. “I’m thankful that you’ve all been so kind to me, even inviting me to share this meal with you on such a special day: a day that must be very difficult for you. A day meant for family. It means a lot.”

“It means a lot that you decided to join us,” said John.

They all shared glances, and there was a silence that asked whether anyone had anything else to say. When no one spoke up, John held out his hands.

“Shall we say Grace?”

They all linked hands as John began.

“Dear Father, bless this food for which we are about to receive. Thank you for providing for us, Lord, and giving us a nation in which we are free to enjoy it in peace. Thank you for keeping this family safe and well, even as we still grieve the loss of a wife and mother. Tell her, Lord, that we love and miss her deeply. And thank you also for blessing us with new friends that we may share this day with, as well as many others to come. In Jesus’s name we pray, Amen.”

“Amen.”

Slowly they released one another, and John raised his hands with a smile. “Well…dig in!”

Talk around the table was easy, but tempered by a dull sense of mourning. The family carried on normally, but even Juliana could tell that the absence of Helen weighed heavy on their hearts and minds.

Would Helen care that she was there? If she were alive, would she have welcomed Juliana just as John and the children did? Or would she view Juliana as a threat?

Surely Helen would welcome her just as the rest of her family had, if everything she’d heard about the Smith matriarch was true. Even in her own timeline, Helen had never been inhospitable. She’d only reacted defensively when she’d been afraid for the safety of her son. In this world, all of her children were safe, and Thomas did not appear the least bit ill.

Juliana ate what she could, feeling less like an imposter, and more like she just didn’t belong there by the end of the meal. Once they’d cleared the table, she excused herself to the restroom while the kids set up a card game.

Emerging from the restroom, she noticed the door to the master bedroom ajar when it had been completely closed before. Glancing inside, she saw John, sitting on the edge of the bed by his nightstand, hands clasped at his mouth. She stood there a moment, unsure whether or not she should approach him.

As though sensing her presence, he turned his head toward her. He dropped his hands, his eyes lowering to the floor.

“Oh. Juliana. Sorry, I was just…”

Compelled forward, she slowly stepped into the room, standing quietly for a few moments.

“It must be hard,” she said quietly. “I doubt it ever gets easier.”

He shook his head. “No. No, it doesn’t.”

She dropped her gaze. “I, umm… Maybe I should…go.”

He stood abruptly. “No, it’s okay.”

“It seems like a day for family…you know? A day to remember her. To be sad she’s gone, while also being thankful that you and the kids still have each other. I’m grateful you asked me to come, but I…feel out of place, and I don’t want you to think you have to entertain me.”

“Please,” he said, placing a hand on her arm and looking hard into her eyes. “Stay. It…it helps, having someone around who understands. Who can keep our spirits up.”

“Is that why you asked me here?”

“No. I meant what I said about wanting to include you so you didn’t have to spend Thanksgiving alone. I guess I just, uh…didn’t realize how hard it was still going to be. For me.”

She took a minute to think before she answered: “Ok. I’ll stay.”

He gave a small smile of thanks, lowering his arm before guiding them back into the living area.

Just like a game night, she reminded herself as they played a few different card games, from Go Fish to Rummy. She felt tired by the time evening came, and she didn’t know whether to blame the turkey or the emotionally taxing atmosphere.

Having divvied up the leftovers so that Juliana could take some home, John helped her carry them out to the car after she’d said her goodbyes to the children.

“I hope we weren’t too much of a burden,” said John as they stood outside in the dark, light filtering down to them from the front porch.

“Not at all. Thanks again for inviting me.”

He shook his head again, looking back at her sincerely. “No, thank you, Juliana. I know it…wasn’t fair of me to ask, but you, umm… You made a difficult day more bearable.”

“I know I couldn’t take her place—not that I would want to.”

“Well, but somehow, you did make it feel more…complete. Normal, even.”

She couldn’t say she felt the same, but at least she had done something for him—for them—whatever little consolation she could provide in Helen’s absence. She shrugged, touching his arm in a gesture of comfort.

“What are friends for?”

He placed his hand over hers. “I’m thankful to have met you, Juliana. We may have had a rocky start, but…” He pulled her hand away, grasping it gently in both of his. “You’ve-you’ve blessed me and my family. I never imagined we needed someone like you, but here you are.”

Her heart stuttered at the intense wonder and admiration she could see in his eyes, even in the low light; her stomach fluttering irrationally as he lifted her fingers to his lips.

He lowered their hands, releasing her as he stared down at the sidewalk beneath their feet, letting the silence surround them.

Glancing up, he said, “I guess I’d better let you go.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I should get going. Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Juliana,” he said, holding her eyes a little longer than necessary and looking as though he didn’t really want her to leave at all.

He held the door for her as she climbed in. With one last glance and a lift of his hand, he stepped away from the car as she turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

Juliana felt sad and forlorn, but there was also a giddiness there that unsettled her. She could still feel the press of his lips against her fingers. She wanted to put the pedal to the floor and get away from John and that house as quickly as possible, while also anticipating the next time they would see each other; hoped he would be in better spirits. That he might touch her again.

She frowned as she watched the road roll out in front of her, the image of the Nazi John Smith tempering her whimsical, disturbing thoughts. She didn’t want _him_ to touch her—not ever.

But weren’t they the same? Could she think and feel differently about both versions of him? Could she hate one and care for the other? Could she ever hate this John? Could she ever care for the Nazi John?

The latter thought turned her stomach. The Nazi John didn’t care for anything.

_That’s not true. He cares about his family, just like this John._

In that case, why would he ascribe to a system that valued efficiency so much that it would sacrifice basic human rights?

She hit the brakes, shifting the car into park outside her house. She exhaled, leaning back in her seat.

Because in the Reich, you either became a Nazi, or you sacrificed your human rights altogether.

_“When backed into a corner, people will do whatever it takes to survive.”_

She sat there, leaning against the window and letting this revelation sink in. She could imagine him, just as broken, just as afraid as alt-John, desperate to give his wife and children a fighting chance at surviving the Nazi occupation. Being too good with the power he’d reached for out of need rather than out of a desire to exert his will over others.

The heat of anger, disgust, and resentment toward the Reichsmarschall faded—not gone, but significantly diminished. While she could not excuse all the blood on his hands, including her own, the light of understanding moved her a step closer to forgiveness, a wound finally starting to heal.


	6. Peace of the Season

At least Juliana expected the excitement that would surround the following holiday. Like Thanksgiving, Christmas had been outlawed in the Reich, but simply unrecognized by the Pons. Being a religious holiday, it was still very much practiced among Americans in the JPS in one form or another. Therefore, she wasn’t entirely caught off guard when she once again found herself being invited to the Smith home for celebrations.

“On Sunday, we’ll be putting up the tree,” said Amy as they walked out to the parking lot after Aikido Monday evening. “Do you want to come help us?”

“Dad already said it was ok,” said Jennifer.

“It’s been so long since I’ve actually put one up,” said Juliana.

“Didn’t you celebrate Christmas in San Francisco?” asked Thomas.

“We did, but it wasn’t as big of a deal.”

“Well it is for us,” said Jennifer. “It was Mom’s favorite holiday. She always made the best Christmas cookies. We still make them, but they’re not as good as hers.”

Holidays in her own timeline were far less important than in this one. It seemed a blessing and a curse to put so much emphasis on them; a blessing until you lost a loved one, and their absence hit harder on those days. Juliana shied away from the idea of being the one to once again dull the pain of Helen’s death, but she hated the idea of disappointing the children even more, especially as Amy begged her with ‘pretty, pretty please.’

“Since you’re twisting my arm,” she said in an exaggerated, teasing tone. “I guess I have no choice.”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can’t wait to tell Daddy!”

“You’re sure he’s okay with it?” she asked of Thomas.

“Yeah. Amy and Jennifer asked him yesterday. He didn’t mind. I think he likes when you’re there.”

“I’m not entirely sure why. But it’s not like I have any other plans.”

“Great,” he grinned as they reached their cars. “Well, see you later, Juliana.”

“Bye, Juliana!”

“Bye, girls,” she said, opening her own door. “Bye, Thomas.”

They waved at each other as they pulled out of the parking lot, heading in opposite directions.

Sunday afternoon came quickly, and Juliana wondered again at the strange ease of spending time with the Smiths. She supposed she was a sucker for seeing kids happy and smiling, no matter the timeline or the circumstances. She also wondered if John would be in a better mood, or if he would simply slog sadly through the entire month of December, waiting for it to end.

He greeted her with a warm handshake and a smile that didn’t appear forced. She was glad of it.

“You’re here so much these days, we might need to add on a guest room.”

“At least I’m just across town.”

“Would you like some coffee?” he said, heading toward the kitchen.

“I’d love some, thanks.”

“Daddy, when are we going to put up the tree?” said an impatient Amy.

“Well, sweetie,” he called from the other room. “Just as soon as you and your brother and sister get the decorations from the closet.”

“Yes!” She bounded off the couch, tugging at her siblings. “You heard Daddy, come on!”

Thomas and Jennifer laughed. “Ok, we’re coming.”

They moved passed her and into the hallway, heading for the hall closet as John came back, handing Juliana a mug.

“I usually help them with the lights and let them do the rest.”

“They’re so excited.”

“Every year,” he chuckled, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Come on in, sit down.”

He took up a seat on one end of the sofa, Juliana on the other as the kids brought out the totes. One by one, they opened them, eager to show Juliana the contents of each. Thomas brought out the bag with the Christmas tree in it. He, John, and Juliana unfolded the limbs while Amy and Jennifer put them in their proper slots on the pole where they’d placed it in front of the bay window.

John quickly found the lights, he and Juliana working together to untangle them and see if they all worked. One strand was dead, but luckily, there was an unopened box in another tote.

Juliana recalled a time when she was much, much younger: she and her sister Trudy decorating a small tabletop tree in their bedroom on Christmas Eve. They’d drawn and cut out paper ornaments, coloring them neon colors in lieu of not having any lights to put on it. They’d admired their work with large smiles, feeling as though the tree represented something special, but not entirely understanding what.

She could have watched the Smith children fawn over their tree and all its dressings for hours, discussing where each and every ornament should be placed for maximum aesthetic enjoyment. The other versions of themselves had never—would never—know such simple joys. Especially Thomas.

Juliana focused on Thomas: his smile, his eyes, his laugh, the way he lifted his youngest sister so she could place the star on the top of the tree. She had to choke down the lump in her throat.

“You alright?” said John quietly.

She turned her head round to look at him. “Yeah. Fine.” Her lips curved. “It’s nice to see them working together.”

“I count myself lucky that they all usually get along so well. Amy and Jennifer had several spats when they were younger, but thankfully they grew out of it.”

“I used to fight with my little sister, too, but we got along more often than not.”

“You have a sister?” said Amy. “What’s her name?”

“Trudy.”

“Where is she?”

“Umm…she’s not here anymore.”

“Oh.” She deflated. “Like Mommy?”

Juliana nodded. “Yeah.” She smiled. “But I bet she would love your Christmas tree. She always wanted one just like it.”

“Then we’ll make it pretty for Trudy and Mommy,” she said, bouncing back to the task at hand.

Juliana glanced back at John when his hand covered hers. He looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly sometime later as they sat across from one another at the dining room table. The kids were in the living room, watching the premiere of _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_. “Here I am inviting you to family things, and I didn’t even consider how hard it all must be for you. I never asked about your family because I didn’t know how comfortable you were with the subject. Other than…San Francisco, I don’t know anything about where you come from.”

She shrugged it off. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a world away from here.”

“Are your…parents…still living?”

“My mom, yes. My dad died when I was little. My sister…she got involved in some things, and it…didn’t end well.”

“Like you?”

She gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Like me.”

She wondered if she’d make it out alive, or if she’d end up dead like Trudy by the end of it all.

“So what else do you guys do for Christmas?” she said, sipping her coffee.

Mercifully taking the hint, John glanced into the living room and shrugged. “We go to church on Christmas Eve. Some years, we’ll read _A Christmas Carol_. Christmas morning is pretty typical. Wake up, exchange presents, have some breakfast. Eat too many cookies.” He grinned, opened and closed his folded hands. “The usual.”

“Sounds like fun. I take it I’m invited to all of that?”

He dropped his eyes to the table. “Listen, you’re…not obligated to—”

“I know.”

A pause. He looked back up at her.

“Well, then…if you’d like to join us, you’re more than welcome. I’m sure the children won’t be disagreeable.”

His clear green eyes held her over the rim of her mug as she took another sip. She smiled behind it.

x-X-x

December was full of Christmas traditions, and the Smith children made sure Juliana didn’t miss a single one. They invited her over to make the cookies. There was a town Tree Lighting ceremony. Pictures with Santa. The girls asked her to attend their Christmas choir concert. The high school put on a production of the Nativity story _._ She could see now why it was such a beloved holiday. The community came together in a way Juliana hadn’t thought possible. If only the people in her own world could experience such simple joys without having to hide.

Another new experience for Juliana came when she attended Church with the Smiths on Christmas Eve. She’d been vaguely familiar with the story of Jesus Christ after getting her hands on a Bible in Cannon City, and the school play had added a little more to her understanding. Hearing it told with such reverence from the lips of a devoted pastor made her wonder for the first time if it was really true. Something about the way he spoke made her _want_ to believe.

But if Jesus had existed, which world had he lived in? All of them? She chose not to get bogged down in such unanswerable questions.

Juliana soaked up the culture surrounding the season, joining the Smiths as they each took turns reading a chapter of Charles Dickens’s _A Christmas Carol._

She pondered the parallels between Mr. Scrooge and the Reich, represented in her mind by the face of the Reichsmarschall. She thought of Nazism as the ultimate Scrooge, only it would never be swayed by empathy toward an invalid boy: it would cart Tiny Tim off to an incinerator instead.

She wondered, though, how comfortable the Reichsmarschall really was with it all. Could he be persuaded, like Scrooge, to reconsider his positions? Thomas’s death hadn’t appeared to affect any changes in his behavior. Would he have done anything differently had he known his son would develop such an illness that would make him a target of the state? Was it too late for him to be redeemed?

She thought of alt-John, questioning again whether the man she’d come to know over the last six months represented the true heart and soul of John Smith; or whether a person’s nature was molded exclusively by their environment and their choices.

Christmas morning, Juliana arrived at the Smiths’ at seven o’clock sharp, accompanied by snow flurries that dusted the ground. She was greeted jubilantly by Amy, who threw little arms around her.

“Merry Christmas! Someone’s excited,” she said, returning the embrace.

Amy pulled back and touched her own cheek. “Now you have to kiss me,” she proclaimed.

When Juliana looked puzzled, Amy pointed upward.

“It’s mistletoe.”

“Oh,” she said with a slow nod. “Well, in that case.” She pressed her lips to the little girl’s cheek. Amy giggled.

“Are you going to let her come past the entryway?” Jennifer asked of her younger sister.

“You can’t keep her all to yourself,” joked Thomas.

Amy stuck her tongue out at them, but darted back into the living room anyway. “Daddy!” she called. “Juliana’s here! Can we open presents now?”

John came out of the kitchen just then, his eyes focusing immediately on his guest.

“Merry Christmas, Juliana.”

“Merry Christmas. I didn’t expect you all to wait on me.”

“Nonsense. Patience is a virtue, and we couldn’t start without you. Plus,” he gestured toward the tripod in the corner near the television. “I was setting up the camera. I like to record them opening up their gifts. I do it every year, and eventually, I plan to have it all edited together.”

“That’s a lovely idea.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Well, since we’re all here, why don’t we get started?”

John started the camera, joining Juliana on the sofa as the children eagerly sat down around the tree. He sat closer to her than he had before. Music came through the radio, the volume low, but adequate enough to give the day the appropriate ambiance.

They opened their gifts from their father first: mostly clothing with a special item for each. For Thomas, a watch; for Jennifer, a necklace; and for Amy, a doll she’d fawned over in the toy store several weeks earlier. They exchanged hugs and kisses in thanks before presenting John with his gifts: a new tie, house slippers, a much-needed leather wallet to replace his worn, tattered one, and homemade cards and pictures.

“You’ve all been paying attention to my complaints, haven’t you? You got me everything I needed!”

“Of course, father,” said Thomas. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you in your old age.”

“Hey, I’m not there yet,” he laughed. John set his gifts aside and got up to switch out the film.

“Now for Juliana’s gifts,” said Jennifer, holding a small box in her hand and looking at her sister. “We’ll go first.”

Juliana blinked. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

Jennifer held out the box, Amy standing beside her, nearly bursting with anticipation. Juliana took it gingerly as John restarted the camera. She removed the lid to reveal a silver charm bracelet.

“It’s a friendship bracelet,” said Jennifer.

“We picked out the charms special, see?” said Amy. “There’s a book for Jennifer because she likes to read; a cupcake for me because, well I love cupcakes and sweet stuff; and a little jewel for you because ‘Juliana’ sounds like ‘jewel.’”

 _Jules._ She hadn’t told the girls her nickname. She didn’t know if she wanted to, or if she should.

“And look,” said Jennifer, pointing to the little letters ‘BFF’ that hung between the charms. “Because we’re best girl friends of course. You’re sort of like…an older sister.”

Juliana felt the tears sting the backs of her eyes, but she held them in check. She looked up at the girls, almost speechless. She smiled.

“I see you like sisters, too. Come here.” She pulled them into a group hug, holding them tightly. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Thomas approached her next with a small bag. “It’s nothing fancy, but I hope you like it.”

Smiling at the boy, she dug through the tissue paper and pulled out a blue and white scarf.

“I see you wear scarves a lot, so I thought you might like a new one.”

“I love it, Thomas,” she said, pulling him into a hug as well before putting it around her neck. “It’ll keep me nice and warm.”

He grinned back at her.

“Now for yours,” said Juliana, reaching into the large gift bag she’d brought with her. She handed a box to each of the girls, and a wrapped object to Thomas.

The girls unwrapped theirs first, revealing special edition Breyer Horses. They marveled over the colors, the styles, comparing and contrasting them. They were significant to Juliana because the horse represented the spirit of freedom, a freedom that the Japanese, as well as the Germans, had tried so hard to stamp out in her world. In this one, Amy and Jennifer, as well as their brother, could pursue any dream they wanted.

For Thomas, she’d gotten him his own book on Aikido since he’d taken far more than a casual interest in the practice. She, like John, also hoped that his study of Aikido might steer him away from enlisting in the Marines.

“Now I won’t have to keep borrowing your books,” he laughed. “Thanks!”

“You may borrow them any time, but now you can start your own collection.” She turned and pulled a thin, flat object from her bag, handing it to John. “For you,” she grinned.

Genuinely surprised, he took the proffered object. “Oh! I wonder what this could be?” As he pulled back the paper, his eyes lit up. “The Beatles!” It was their “Twist and Shout” album, released earlier that year.

“Figured you needed to drown out all that terrible country music somehow.”

He laughed. “It’s perfect, Miss Crain.” He handed her his own gift, and she took it. “Thomas told me you’re a writer, that you can never have too many journals,” he said as she unwrapped a pretty leather-bound book.

“He would be correct. I always need something to write in. It’s beautiful, John.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and he reciprocated the brief hug.

“I think that the best gift is being able to share this wonderful day together.”

The children agreed.

John leaned forward, clapping his hands on his knees. “I suppose we should make some breakfast now, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Jennifer. “I’m starving!”

“I’m not,” said Amy. “I ate cookies when I got up.”

“You’re going to turn into a cookie,” said John, rising to head toward the kitchen. Amy giggled.

Jennifer turned up the radio as everyone pitched in to make the food. They enjoyed stacks of pancakes with maple syrup and a dollop of whipped cream, and sides of bacon and sausage.

After breakfast, the kids danced in the living room and sang to all the Christmas tunes, hyped up on sugar and merriment. They were able to coax Juliana, and even John to join, especially as the Johnny Mathis version of “Marshmallow World” began to play.

“The world is your snowball,  
See how it grows!  
That’s how it goes  
Whenever it snows!  
The world is your snowball,  
Just for a song.  
So get out and roll it along!

It’s a yum, yummy world made for sweethearts.  
Take a walk with your favorite girl!  
It’s a sugar date.  
What if spring is late?  
In winter, it’s a marshmallow world!

I said, winter—  
It’s a big, darn, marshmallow world!”

Juliana only stayed for a few hours, much to the children’s dismay. John insisted she didn’t have to leave, but Juliana figured the family needed some time to themselves on Christmas day. The atmosphere hadn’t been oppressive as it had on Thanksgiving, but an awareness of the missing Helen still pervaded.

She’d put her gifts in the bag she’d brought with her, so she didn’t have much to carry out. She hugged each of the kids goodbye, thanking them again for their thoughtfulness and hospitality. Juliana even gave John a full hug as she made to leave, so caught up in the spirit of the season that it only felt natural.

“Thank you so much for having me.”

“You’re always welcome here, Juliana.”

“I know,” she smiled.

They turned when they heard giggling from the girls. Thomas tried and failed to bite back an amused grin.

“What?” said John.

“You have to kiss Juliana, Daddy,” said Jennifer.

“Yeah, Dad,” said Thomas.

John looked up briefly out of habit, but Juliana didn’t have to. Amy bounced up and down, her hands covering her mouth.

“Oh,” he said, his cheeks coloring. Juliana bit her lip as he glanced back at her. “Well, if it’s alright with Miss Crain.”

She shrugged. “I suppose those are the rules,” she said, trying not to think too much about it. It didn’t help that the kids watched them expectantly.

“Umm… Alright then,” he said awkwardly. He hesitated, his eyes meeting hers before he bent down to press his lips to her cheek. Her breath hitched at the warm, gentle softness of the kiss, a shudder trembling down her spine. 

He didn’t linger, and she found herself caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

“There.”

Jennifer snorted, crossing her arms.

Amy frowned. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

Even Thomas appeared disapproving. Juliana’s face heated, and she didn’t need to look at John to feel his nervous embarrassment. There was a short pause as he looked at each of his children.

“It doesn’t have to be a romantic kiss,” he protested only to be met with continued looks of disapproval. He shook his head and returned his attention to Juliana. “Are you sure you have everything?”

She nodded, feeling the awkwardness between them that hadn’t been present until only a moment ago. “Yeah.”

“Do you need any help with that?” he asked, gesturing toward the bag.

“No, I can manage. Thanks again.” She smiled at John, then at the kids who now looked disappointed. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

Pretending not to be affected by the lingering tickle of John’s lips against her skin and the knowledge that the Smith children appeared to view them as potential dating partners, she made her way to her car and headed home.

Later that evening, Juliana sat on her bed, contemplating the gifts she’d received, not just from the Smiths, but from others in Bailey’s Crossroads as well. Books from Russ and Cynthia; a stylish hat from Leanne, a snow globe from Jake, and some goofy shot glasses as a gag gift from Ben. Would she be able to take all those items with her when she returned home?

Juliana tried not to think about having to abandon her friends here at some point. She liked them all, and she hated the thought that they might believe she never really cared when she eventually left.

She picked up the journal from John, flipping through its blank pages when something written at the beginning caught her attention.

_‘Juliana,_

_I know our family is no replacement for your own, but I think I speak for the kids as well as myself when I say that you certainly feel like part of ours. Thank you for being a friend and a female role model for Thomas, Amy, and Jennifer. It brings me so much joy to see them genuinely happy again, especially during the Christmas season when I know they miss their mother as much as I do._

_Beyond that, I find you bring me personally a sense of peace and hope that I never expected. I, too, feel genuine happiness when you’re around—and believe me when I say I hadn’t thought I’d feel that way again. You’ve quickly become a friend I can rely on—a friend I can trust—and I cannot express the fullness of my gratitude to have you in my life._

_Merry Christmas,_

_John.’_

x-X-x

“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” said Russ as they spoke over the phone a few days later.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. I apologize.”

“Nah, me too. You will come to the New Year’s party at The Scupper on Thursday, won’t you?”

“Sure. I don’t have any plans.”

“Great. Pick you up at eight?”

She thought she could use a distraction from the Smiths, particularly John. They hadn’t invited her to any New Year’s celebrations, surprisingly, and although she enjoyed the children very much, she wouldn’t mind purely adult company for a change.

She had meditated again on the John situation. While her meditation practice was progressing nicely, it still had not yielded any further insights on what she should be doing with her time in this alternate world. She had continued her research, continued her spiritual practices, strengthening her mind, body, and spirit for whatever task destiny had in store for her.

But on December 31, 1964, Juliana would simply enjoy the heralding of a new year in a free USA.

“The library mouse has come out of hiding,” teased Ben.

“I wasn’t hiding. I’ve just been…elsewhere,” she replied, taking a sip of her beer.

“Babysitting?” Jake prodded.

“Yeah, actually that’s why I’m here. Russ said you needed a babysitter.”

“Damn, Jake,” said Ben, he and the others laughing. “She’s got you pegged, doesn’t she?”

“Hey, you know I’m just kiddin’,” said Jake.

“Back-peddler,” Leanne muttered.

As “Surf City” came through the speakers, Juliana turned to Russ for a dance. She lost herself in the music, the beer, and the cheer, moving and shaking with Leanne and the guys. Forgetting where and when she was. Taking the night to just be. It didn’t matter if the alcohol made her too tipsy, or if the boys got a little too handsy now and again. This experience of a New Year celebration felt new and different and wonderful.

She shouldn’t have been surprised at the arrival of two more people around the nine o’clock hour. They sat at one end of the bar, chatting animatedly over a few beers as men do, and glancing up at the television every so often as it was tuned in to the countdown in New York.

He hadn’t appeared to notice her, his attention fixed on his friend, Randy Collins. She did her best to ignore him, returning her attention primarily to Russ and pulling him into another dance.

Inevitably, John did notice her, but he did not seem interested in abandoning his conversation. Juliana relaxed, though she questioned why his presence had twisted her out of sorts in the first place.

She refocused on Leanne, who handed her another drink.

Around eleven-thirty, she noticed Randy headed for the door. She glanced back at the bar to find John watching the television, still nursing a beer. Finding her other friends momentarily occupied, she no longer questioned whatever prompted her to wander over to lean against the counter beside him.

“Not going to say hi?”

“I figured you could manage without me. You’re in good company, anyway.”

“Still, it’s not like you.”

“Careful, Miss Crain. It almost sounds as though you might actually miss me if I’m not around.”

“I never said that. Randy went home before the main event?”

John shrugged. “At some point, the ball drop isn’t very exciting. For us old folks, it becomes more of a challenge to stay out past our bedtime.”

“But you’re still here.”

“Well…I can’t waste a good draft.”

His eyes shimmered with something she couldn’t identify despite his collected air of indifference which was so unlike him. His lips weren’t quite a smile, but held a pleasant expression. She wanted to ask—wanted to know what he was thinking. The urge to touch him, to persuade him to tell her the contents of his thoughts pulled at her gut and made her fingers twitch against her glass.

She could almost feel the soft, yet coarse curls of his hair; imagine his roughened cheek and the exposed skin beneath his collarbone against her fingertips. Her gaze flickered to his long legs propped on the ring of the bar stool, and her palms itched to grip the powerful muscles beneath the fabric of his trousers.

She recalled Lucy’s description of him for the first time since it had been spoken aloud that day in the Smiths’ kitchen.

_Dreadfully handsome._

She could blame the alcohol for the warmth in her face.

She finally said, “I guess not.”

His expression seemed to shift to one of contemplation, and she waited to see what he would say or do.

“Hey, come dance with me,” said a tipsy Leanne, taking hold of Juliana’s arm. “It’s my favorite song! Oh, hi John!”

“Evening, Leanne. Enjoying yourself, I see.”

“If Juliana would dance with me!”

“She is a fine dance partner,” he grinned.

“Much better than those clumsy oafs,” she said, gesturing toward Ben and Russ, who were trying to hold up a stumbling Jake.

“Watch my drink?” said Juliana.

John carefully plucked it from her fingers. “Certainly.”

She allowed Leanne to carry her off, her attention quickly shifting to keeping her balance and enjoying the music. Ben and Russ took turns sitting out with a wasted Jake, plying him with water to bring him back to his senses.

“You were right; he does need a babysitter!”

Juliana laughed and spun, only to be caught up by Russ’s arms. She indulged him in another swing about the room until folks around them began to stop and hand their attention to the little TV behind the bar, its volume turned up enough to be able to hear the anchors in New York.

She stepped forward, away from Russ, watching, transfixed. A New York free of Nazi occupation; Time Square sporting no Swastikas. A new year dawning in a free America.

The bar patrons, their spirits buoyed by the occasion and the alcohol they’d imbibed, counted down with the folks in New York.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The camera panned over the chanting crowd, flags, signs, and banners waving. Children on parents’ shoulders.

“Seven! Six! Five! Four!”

It refocused on the ball.

“Three! Two! One!”

The men and women around her joined the people on the television, erupting into cheers and ‘Happy New Years’ as the ball dropped, confetti raining over Time Square.

Juliana’s heart swelled until she thought it would burst, and she allowed her smile to spread from ear-to-ear. A tear rolled down her cheek.

To her left and right, men and women turned to each other, sharing traditional New Year’s kisses. Russ had stepped up beside her, touching her arm, and she swung her head around. He was grinning.

“May I?”

She didn’t protest as he leaned in to cover her mouth with his. She let it happen, even reciprocating. She didn’t feel any differently as he pulled back, his eyes and smile full of a boyish friendliness.

“Happy New Year, Juliana.”

“Happy New Year, Russ.”

“Well, no one’s kissing Jake,” said Leanne as she rejoined them. “Ben took him out back before he could throw up on the floor. Boy can’t handle his liquor and should have stuck with the beer.”

“Ugh, glad I missed it,” said Russ.

“He’s never going to grow up.”

“Who’d you kiss?” asked Juliana.

“Oh, I just grabbed Dave Tanley, swung him around, and planted one on him.”

“Hey, look at you go!” said Russ.

“You still owe me another dance, darlin’.”

“You girls are going to kill me,” he moaned good-naturedly, letting her drag him off anyway.

“I’ll bring him right back, Juliana! I promise!”

It didn’t matter to Juliana. They didn’t understand—had no way of understanding that to her, the night was about more than just an occasion to drink and socialize. It was so much bigger, and she didn’t know if she’d get to experience it again.

“Miss Crain.”

She turned to John, who held out her drink.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. “Am I ‘Miss Crain’ in public?”

He chuckled, but it lacked genuine humor. “Sorry. Juliana. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said with a polite smile.

“You’re leaving?”

He lifted his brows and shrugged. “Well. Us old guys. You know?”

“You’re not that old.”

“Thankfully not yet! But it is time for me to go.”

A pang of disappointment sobered her some. She looked around, suddenly not keen on staying longer. She had accomplished her goal of ushering in the New Year, midnight ball drop and all. She and her companions had drunk enough (Jake far more than that), and she was starting to feel drowsy from all the excitement, coming down from her high.

“I, umm… I think I’m ready to go, too.”

John frowned. “So soon?”

“What can I say? Maybe _I’m_ getting old.”

“Well then, now you really are in trouble. Did you come alone?”

“No, I got a ride with Russ.”

John glanced over her head to Russ and Leanne as they continued to dance. “It doesn’t appear he shares your exhaustion. If you’re sure you’re done with the festivities, I can run you home.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

She glanced at the contents of her glass before downing them and setting it aside. She lifted the corner of her lips. “Then let’s go.”

Juliana said her goodbyes to Russ and the others. He looked a little put-out, offered to take her home, but she assured him he didn’t need to. She met John at the door, and they walked out together.

Other than the muted noise from inside The Scupper, the night was blessedly quiet. She hadn’t realized how warm it had gotten in the crowded

bar until the cold air hit her heated face and made it easier to breathe. A little more snow covered the ground than it had on Christmas, but thankfully nothing hazardous.

Juliana sunk into the seat, realizing she was more tired than she’d thought. Maybe she really was getting old.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” John asked conversationally as they drove through town.

“Yes, very much. You?”

“I always look forward to the occasional evening out.”

“You…said you’re from New York. Have you even been in Time Square for New Year’s?”

“A few times when I was younger. It’s not very exciting watching it over a broadcast, but actually being there is…a profound experience. Magical, some would say.”

She glanced down at her lap, then out the window, watching the snow fall. “I’d love to see it in person, just once.”

They rode quietly for a minute or two.

“So,” he ventured, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “You and Russ, huh?”

She turned her head to stare back at him, attempting to decipher the reason for his inquiry, but unable to read his expression in the dark.

“We’re just friends.”

“Really? Didn’t you kiss him tonight?”

She laughed. “It was just a New Year’s kiss. Everyone does it.”

“Oh.”

Words unspoken sparked uncomfortably between them. Juliana remained uncertain whether or not she wanted to poke at them.

She frowned as a realization struck her. “I…suppose you haven’t had one since…”

He didn’t offer a response, but his silence was confirmation enough.

Mercifully, they arrived outside her apartment a few moments later. He shifted the car into park beneath the street light, returning to an earlier ease that felt a misplaced.

“Here you are, Miss Crain. Home sweet home.”

“Thank you for the ride.”

“Well, the good thing about a small town is that nothing is every really out of the way.”

“Still, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime.”

She didn’t move, found she didn’t really want to. But she had to. He needed to get home. She met his eyes, and they held her there. She wondered if he knew they had such an effect on her.

A look of puzzlement passed over his features. No, he didn’t know.

His brows drew together in mild bewilderment. What did her own eyes convey?

She glanced at his lips, bit down on her own. Should she? Could she? Those eyes again. They should be clouded—hard and guarded—but they were clear. Always clear, always soft.

Before she could swallow the impulse, she leaned across the seat. He froze at the sudden contact, but his hesitation was short-lived. He reciprocated, his lips just as soft, just as gentle as those beautiful green eyes. Juliana could have melted into the leather upholstery. This felt different; far, far different than the kiss she’d shared with Russ not even an hour earlier.

It took great effort to pull away, and she instantly lamented the space between them. She met his gaze again.

“Happy New Year, John.”

He stared back at her, blinking, lips parted, wheels clearly turning as he tried to comprehend their exchange, his eyes darting from one part of her body to another—always returning to her lips.

She met those eyes again, her heart leaping into her throat when she read a desire within them that matched her own.

They leaned into one another, lips pressing, tasting, coaxing, caressing.

Lingering.

She felt everything—everything she’d seen in him in the last few months, but had been unable (or perhaps unwilling) to comprehend. It should have scared her—should have terrified her, but it didn’t. She drank it all, savoring it. Savoring the moment. Savoring him.

The tickling sweetness bubbled up, morphed, turning to a rolling, rumbling need low in her belly. She reached out to touch him, caressing his leg, feeling the hardness of the man that lay beneath the heart of the good Samaritan. They were no different, she and him.

His hand lifted to cradle the side of her head as she moved closer. She opened her mouth for him, the invasion of his tongue fanning the fire brewing deep in her gut, forcing a moan from her throat. She clutched at his jacket, his shirt, as he grasped her hip, pulling her as close as they could manage in the cramped front seat of his car.

Like teenagers, they found themselves frantic with need, unable to stop kissing, tasting, pressing. But they weren’t teenagers, and the damned car wouldn’t do.

He chased her lips when she pulled back.

“No,” she gasped, keeping hold of his lapels. “Come inside.”

He reached over to switch off the ignition before allowing her to guide him across the seat and out of the passenger-side door. The walkway to the house was thankfully short, and she made quick work of the lock.

John shut the door behind them only to find himself pressed against it as Juliana reclaimed his lips. He leveled no complaints. He gathered her into his arms, taking the liberties she handed him. His hands traveling, feeling, grasping. She rose against him as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders. She gasped at the feel of the ridge in his pants, rolling her hips against it. He groaned against her mouth. He pulled her shirt from her jeans to run his hands up over the skin beneath.

She grasped his shirt collar again, undoing the two remaining buttons as she led him backward toward the bedroom. He followed, only releasing her lips here and there to be sure they didn’t bump into anything as they moved through the house.

Standing on the rug in her room, Juliana tugged off her own shirt, enjoying the abrupt drop of his eyes to her chest. Unclasping the button of her jeans, he shoved his hands beneath them to grab her backside. He pulled her against his groin. She worked quickly to unfasten his belt, then stepped out of her jeans before pulling down his trousers, boxers and all.

She straightened, and he drew in a breath when Juliana boldly took him in her hand. He felt large and hard in her grasp, and she felt powerful watching the exquisite pain play beautifully across his face. He hiked her leg up over his hip, her other arm coming up around his neck as he reclaimed her lips. She worked him with skillful fingers, and he moved to showering her neck and the tops of her breasts with hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her ache.

Before she’d finished, John pushed her leg back down, stepping forward until she felt the bed against the backs of her calves. He pulled down the straps of her bra as she reached back to unhook it. Together, they let it fall away from her breasts before she sat down on the bed.

At last, he pulled the shirt from his body, and her gaze roved over his broad chest and shoulders. She had little time to admire him before he hooked his fingers beneath the band of her underwear, yanking them from her legs. She repositioned herself to utilize the pillows as he crawled over top of her.

He stopped there, and she watched as he studied her. There was nothing predatory about his gaze: nothing unnerving or intimidating. Her stomach flipped deliciously, watching him soak in the sight of her, as if committing each part of her face and body to memory. She saw far more than simple desire in those bright green eyes. With John, nothing was shallow or meaningless, and for the first time in her life, she understood what it meant to be worshiped by a man.

“Juliana…”

She lifted a hand to his face, slowly bringing his lips back to hers.

He pushed inside her, and she drew in a sharp breath. He held here there, a moment of pleasure suspended in time. It dulled, her body relaxing as though it had nothing to anticipate…and then the fall.

His rhythm slow and gentle, he rocked her, stroked her, filled her. His eyes left hers only so that he could place butterfly kisses across her nose, cheeks, temples. He claimed her lips once more, rocking deeper, with more urgency. She lifted her hips to meet him; higher—higher—higher.

Juliana could feel the power beneath his tenderness—understood that the latter gave rise to the former. The lamb with the capacity to become a lion, but who chose to stay a lamb.

His final, erratic movements left her breathless, triggering her own climax. He stopped, their eyes reflecting their shared release back at each other like infinity mirrors.

She closed hers as the last shudders rippled through her. She felt him leave her, relieved when he didn’t get up altogether. John laid down beside her. His hand cradled her head again, rolling it gently in his direction.

He pressed his lips to her forehead before moving his hand down her body to pull her against him. She wanted to stay awake, to float in the quiet moment between them. But he made it too easy to surrender, and it didn’t take long before she fell asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Everything mentioned in this chapter existed in 1964. Rudolph did actually premiere on Sunday, Dec 6, 1964. The Beatles' "Twist and Shout" album also released in February of that year. In looking for time-accurate Christmas songs, I was pleased to find that one of my favorites, the Johnny Mathis version of "Marshmallow World" came out in 1963. "Surf City" by Jan and Dean released the same year. And Breyer Horses began in 1950. 
> 
> As for the story itself, the Christmas day events were the most difficult to write for some reason. I could have spent more time on the month of December, but I didn't want to get too bogged down in it all. I'm still not sure how long this story will be, but I'm afraid if I try to draw it out too long, I may get burnt out. I would prefer to be able to finish it. The end of this chapter is what my brain kept wanting to jump to. At least it's finally written, and the story can progress!


	7. Deliverance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm aware there is a FanFic for this pairing called Deliverance. I'm eagerly anticipating the next chapter myself, but I swear I didn't steal the chapter title from that story! I title my chapters after I write them, and you'll see there's a good reason for the chapter name! 
> 
> Thank you for the positive reception so far! I might hit some road blocks here soon, but please be patient if I take a little longer to update. So far, this setup has been a cake-walk compared to the mental gymnastics I might have to perform to get this story where I want it to go. Haha I hope I surprise myself.

Juliana stared at the man lying next to her as the darkness in the bedroom began to lift, the only sound John’s deep, quiet breathing. His face seemed peaceful, the lines of age more subtle in sleep. She found him strikingly beautiful.

Until she remembered the Reichsmarschall.

She sat up slowly, the covers he must have pulled over them in the night clutched around her.

Since Frank, the only other man she’d slept with had been Joe Blake. Juliana still loved Frank, but she might as well have lived ten lifetimes since Trudy had given her that film. While she’d been overjoyed to see him in Sabra, she’d also realized she was no longer in love with him. The life they’d share together had been blown apart, and she couldn’t say she wanted it back even if it were possible. Frank had also changed, and in a world (or worlds) at war, they’d found and walked widely different paths.

The attraction between her and Joe had been present since their meeting in Cannon City, but her heart had still belonged to Frank. Admitting to her own desire for Joe made it easier to use their mutual attraction to get closer to him when he’d been working as a spy and a hitman in the JPS.

She’d thought that perhaps Joe would be a new focal point for herself and the world she tried so desperately to save. In the end, the Reich had ruined him. Whatever change he’d claimed she’d made in him had been snuffed out by brainwashing and torture. Even now, her heart still ached at the loss of a once-trusted friend, though she’d had no time to mourn him.

And behind her, the face of the man who had pushed Joe onto the path that had led to his inevitable death.

 _They aren’t the same_ , she told herself.

But weren’t they? They shared more than just a face. They had the same priorities. The same tendencies and capabilities. The same wife and children. The same mannerisms. They shared a remarkable intuition. Even his son remained the same in both worlds despite being raised in two different political systems. The only difference remained the cards they’d been dealt.

Juliana dropped her head in her hands. Had she really fallen for John Smith? She knew the man beside her to be sweet, polite, gentle, fair, attentive, compassionate, patient, understanding. And yet even the angel could still look a helpless, sobbing young boy in the eyes and shoot him point blank.

She watched the light grow outside her bedroom window, wondering about the state of her own sanity. She didn’t belong in this world, and yet the amount of genuine human connection she’d gained in the last six months couldn’t have been for nothing. Surely she wasn’t meant to stay here in Bailey’s Crossroads—to forsake her own timeline for—

What? For John? His kids? They had everything in this world, things that the alternate versions of themselves didn’t even know they were missing. Thomas had a life, for God’s sake! They didn’t need her here. No matter what John said, _they didn’t need her._

So was it right to indulge these feelings that made no sense if it meant leaving him—leaving them all—in the end?

Rough fingertips against her bare arm drew Juliana’s thoughts back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder to see him studying her through half-lidded eyes. She wanted to lie back down, curl into his side, and stay that way for hours.

“Do you regret it?” he asked softly.

She looked down at her hands, hesitating only when her gut response took her by surprise.

“No. Do you?”

Seconds ticked by before he rose to join her in a sitting position. He pushed her hair aside before wrapping one arm around her, the other lacing his fingers with hers where they sat in her lap. She leaned into him.

“No. Not at all.”

In spite of her previous thoughts, which she knew to be valid, Juliana could only feel a fluttering of giddy relief. He pressed his lips to her cheek, then to her collarbone. They simply sat there, Juliana allowing John to hold her for a few blissful minutes.

His resigned sigh tickled her skin, made her shiver.

“As much as I would like to stay…I need to get home.”

“What will you tell the kids?”

“Oh…I fell asleep at Randy’s place after a few drinks.”

Of course they didn’t need to know about their father’s sex life, but a larger question loomed beyond his whereabouts on New Year’s Eve.

“I don’t…regret. But I-I don’t know…what…”

“Me neither,” he said. “I suppose…we have a lot of…thinking…to do.”

“Definitely…”

He held her a moment longer, kissing the top of her shoulder before he climbed out of the bed to dress. The instant he left her, she missed his touch and the feel of his body surrounding her. She wanted to call him back, but they had to get on with the day.

Having only put on her blue robe and house slippers, she stood by the front door with a now fully-clothed John. He checked his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys before turning back to her. So many unspoken thoughts left the air feeling heavy. He ran his hands over her arms, clasped her hands.

“Juliana… Last night was…a wonderful surprise. I didn’t know I was still capable of…” He glanced around, as though searching for the right words somewhere within her apartment. “Well, you’ve brought so much back for me, and I don’t take one bit of it for granted. It meant…so much—probably more than you’ll ever know.

“But I…” He met her gaze, and she felt the weight of his words as clearly as she could see it in his eyes. “I expect nothing more. I know my presence has been difficult for you since we met. What you’ve given me is a gift, and I leave it in your hands now. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect that.”

What else could she do but embrace him? She had no words to counter him. He knew, but he didn’t—couldn’t—understand that everything going forward was a decision that only she could make. She both loved and hated his total acceptance because it made it impossible to choose.

The words wanted to leap from her tongue, but she held them back as John returned her embrace, holding her tightly to him. She felt safe there. Safe and loved and secure—as though if she stayed, he could take all her worries away. He kissed her temple before pulling back.

“Happy New Year, Juliana.”

“Happy New Year, John.”

x-X-x

She stood on the covered bridge, watching the ducks and geese in the early morning light that reflected off the reservoir. The seasons had changed, the flowers blooming here, there, and everywhere, and the sun had already begun to warm the cooled air around her.

A strong pair of arms wound around her, pulling her into the cradle of broad shoulders, and she knew without looking who they belonged to. He kissed her cheek, down her neck to her shoulders, and she heated more from his touch than from the dawn. She turned in his arms, gazing up into those eyes she’d come to know so well, and she smiled.

Wordlessly, he covered her mouth with his, and she swooned, drinking the sweetness from his lips. He stroked her hair, letting the locks flow through his fingers. She ran her hands up over his chest, circling her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

The tender emotions gave way to an increasing desire as he caressed every inch of her body. His seeking mouth was hot and persuasive, pulling the breath from her lungs and causing the sensual fire to pool and burn deep in her abdomen.

He lifted her, setting her upon the railing, stepping between her legs until she could feel his hardness rub against her loins. His mouth became as demanding as the ridge in his pants, but instead of terrifying her, it enthralled her. She loved the force, the power he kept contained, and she dared him with her each undulation of her hips to release it for her.

He pushed her until she was lying back on a bed, but she couldn’t open her eyes, so lost in the pleasure of his kiss, his touch, the weight of his body over hers. Too impatient to remove their clothing, he only managed to undo his belt and lift her skirt. She cried out at the sudden jolt that shot up her spine as he thrust into her without hesitation.

His movements were rough, but not cruel or unpleasant. He commanded her body, and it obeyed every push, every stroke, every kiss, every squeeze—responding in whatever way he wanted—every way she needed. She clung to him, riding the pain as well as the pleasure, and wanting more.

“Come for me, Juliana,” came the familiar persuasive purr that demanded a response. She could think of no reason to deny him. He always got what he wanted.

“Yes, John. Yes!”

Something exploded inside her, and she released a sharp, shuddering moan. He rode out her orgasm, and she was astounded he could pull another one from her so quickly.

“Again, Juliana. Again.”

She shuddered out a second release, feeling as though her body would buckle, and she’d dissolve into the mattress beneath her.

He only drove deeper, more deliberately, and she could feel each powerful, pointed stroke that hit that sweet spot near her cervix.

“ _Again.”_

She climaxed a third time upon feeling him pour into her—so much she thought he’d surely staked his claim. Her legs held him in place while he allowed her to come down from her high.

“That’s a good girl, Juliana,” he purred against her ear, stroking up along her side, beneath her breast.

Her eyes fluttered open, seeking her angel, but her heart dropped into her stomach when she found the devil above her instead.

She shoves him away, now standing in the alley in which she’d killed George Dixon. Only it wasn’t George who stared back at her in Nazi regalia: it was the Reichsmarschall.

Scrambling backward, she pointed the gun, tears streaming down her face.

“Juliana…” came the quiet plea as he held up his hands. “It’s me.”

“No! Shut up!”

“Juliana…”

“Get away from me!”

He took a step toward her. His pained, gentle eyes and face belonged to the man she’d come to know so well, but they were attached to the imposing body of the Reichsmarschall.

“Juliana…”

“Stay away!”

“Juliana, please…” He took another step.

_Bang._

Blood poured out onto the pavement beneath him. She dropped to her knees beside the body, unable to stop the tears and not knowing whether they were from relief or devastation.

x-X-x

Juliana sat on the sofa in the dark at 2:00 AM, a steaming cup of tea warming her fingers, calming her nerves. The shaking and crying had mercifully stopped, but she couldn’t return to bed. She even found herself afraid to meditate. She could barely stomach the tea, and any thoughts of eating made her ill.

The image of a coin with two faces spun in her mind, round and round, never stopping. She waited for its movement to slow, but it challenged her. Only she could stop the motion, but she couldn’t muster the courage to find out which way it would land.

Returning to work at the library that day proved a blessing, a way to distract from her confused, distressing thoughts. She busied herself with book returns and balance sheets, grateful that not many people sought to visit the library on only the second day of the year.

“I’m heading out for the day.”

Juliana jumped, turned to Cynthia.

“Oh. Ok.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

The other woman frowned in concern. “Are you alright? You seem a little…not yourself.”

“I just didn’t sleep well. Nothing to worry about.” She forced a smile.

Cynthia didn’t seem convinced. “Ok… Well, I’ll see you on Monday then.”

Monday. She had another day off tomorrow. Shaking her head, she returned to work.

The following day, Juliana attempted to meditate. Upon entering the meditation plane, she was met by the Reichsmarschall. He turned toward her slowly, the threat, the malice clear in his hard, unmerciful gaze. He pulled a gun from his coat, raised it.

Juliana stepped back, wanting to run, but unable to make herself move fast enough.

_Bang._

Not keen to revisit such horrific visions, she abandoned her meditation and busied herself with cleaning.

She’d kept up with her apartment well enough, but after several months, a deeper clean was warranted. She turned on the radio while she worked, loosely contemplating how some of the music remained the same as in her own world, but others were completely unique to this one.

Her heart leapt into her throat as the phone rang, loud and piercing above the radio. She stared at it, not daring to move. It rang and rang and rang…and then it stopped.

Her shoulders dropped as she let out a breath. She returned to cleaning the kitchen sink. She didn’t want to talk today, didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to be connected to this world while she still battled with her own mind.

For the next several days, she focused almost exclusively on work, housework, and her research, continuing to ignore the phone. She did take time to meditate, thankful to not experience any distressing visions. She also had no further nightmares, but that first one kept her feeling rattled and unsteady.

Friday, she scanned the aisles of books, reordering any that were misplaced, losing herself in the numbers that remained meaningless outside the Dewey Decimal System. A light clearing of a throat startled her.

“Juliana?”

Half afraid to know which face she would see, she turned around.

“John.”

Hands in his pockets, he appraised her with a look of concern, brows furrowed, his lips turned down.

“Are you okay?”

Returning her attention to the task at hand, she said, “Yeah. Why?”

“Well…you haven’t been answering your phone. Even Russ—he came into the store yesterday, said it wasn’t like you.”

“I’ve just been busy.”

“Cynthia says you’ve been acting strange this week.”

She slammed a book down on the shelf, rounding on him. “I guess that’s the plight of a small town. Everyone gossips about you.”

“It’s not gossip, we’re just… Well, we care about you.”

“Maybe I wanted to be left alone.”

He dropped his head. “I’m sorry. I… With what happened on New Year’s, I didn’t want your withdrawal to be because of me.”

Juliana deflated, leaned against the shelf. “It’s not you, John, it’s…”

What? How could she explain?

His face grew clouded, dark. He turned away. “It’s because I remind you of him,” he said bitterly, and she could hear the resentment directed toward himself.

Impulsively, she stepped in front of him, hands on his arms, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“No—I shouldn’t have told you that. Look, my problems aren’t your problems. Ok? I did what I did on New Year’s because of who _you_ are. John, you’ve been so patient with me. I just need you to be patient a little longer while I figure things out—and please, _please_ don’t _ever_ stop being you.”

He glanced off to the side, his shoulders falling. “I wish I knew what it was about me… I would change it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I just don’t know how. Nothing I could say would make any sense…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m not asking. But it hurts me, Juliana…to know that you feel something for me, but also seeing you wrestle with whatever he did to you… And there’s not a damn thing I can do to help you.”

“You’re wrong.” He met her eyes again. “I trust you, John. If I didn’t, that night never would have happened. Please trust that I am and will be okay. But I need time to think.”

He chewed on her words, nodded. “I trust you.”

“Please tell Russ, and anyone else who asks, that I’m fine. No need to worry.”

“We’ll worry anyway.”

She took a step back, gave a small smile. “Thank you, John.”

“I’ll, umm…I’ll let you get back to work. When you’re ready, I’ll be around.”

They shared a look of mutual understanding before he turned to leave. Juliana watched after him, then resumed her previous task.

Later that evening, she meditated again for an hour or so. This time, her efforts were rewarded with a new vision. She rose from her mat with purpose, heading to her bedroom and finding her book on the I Ching. Drawing the lines in the corresponding journal, she looked up the meaning of the message.

Hexagram 40: Deliverance. Clarity after a storm. Forgiveness after conflict. Healing after a wound. The resolution of a difficult situation. A signal of renewal and change.

Juliana had spent the last week avoiding, hiding, too afraid to confront and stop that spinning coin. She’d said she needed time to think, but she’d been denying her fear.

John’s visit to the library had made her cowardice clear. When presented with the choice to focus on either the good or the ugly, she’d actively, instinctively chosen to look toward the goodness. The coin had been tabled. As Hawthorne had put it, she had a natural, unwavering willingness to bet on the best in people, even John Smith.

x-X-x

When next she entered the meditation plane, she came face-to-face with the Reichsmarschall once more. His eyes burned with a black hatred that had previously petrified her. Now, she stood her ground as he pulled the pistol from his coat.

She met those eyes, stepping toward him rather than away, until her forehead rested against the muzzle of the gun.

She held his gaze, daring him to make a choice, knowing before he did which way he would choose. They stood there for an eternity.

Finally, his expression changed to one of confusion, then resignation. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. It fell from his grasp, dissolving into the shifting sands of the meditation plane.

As Juliana returned to her body and opened her eyes, she felt weightless and unafraid.

x-X-x

The cold January air didn’t bother Juliana. She wore the scarf from Thomas along with her other winter clothing as she stood in the archway of the gazebo in the park, waiting. She felt that fluttering again as John walked up the path toward her, hands in his coat pockets.

Juliana turned to John as he reached her. She couldn’t read his expression that morning, no doubt because he was uncertain what she would say. She managed to glimpse a flash of hope before he stuffed it away.

“I guess you’ve, uh…had time to think?”

“I have. And you?”

He nodded, glancing at his feet. “Yes.”

She thought he’d likely prepared himself for whatever she decided, and she found his complete acceptance refreshingly endearing.

“First, I…want to thank you, John. For giving me the space I needed, and for checking on me at the library.”

He looked puzzled.

“I needed that, too.”

“Oh,” he said, though the furrow of his brows evidenced his continued confusion.

Juliana had thought carefully about what she would say, given that her time in this world remained limited. However, she couldn’t ignore where and with whom she’d found herself, nor could she ignore her growing feelings toward John. She’d ended up at his mercy for a reason.

“I said I have no regrets, but that doesn’t mean I’m fearless. All that time I spent by myself, I had to choose whether I would let my past dictate my future. Instead, I chose to look forward, toward hope.” She met his eyes. “I chose to believe in you.”

His own hope and relief returned, but he kept them at bay, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Juliana bit her lip.

“I’m not sure how things will play out between us, or how much I have to give. But for now, whatever I have…I’d like to share it with you.”

“Are you sure, Juliana?” he said quietly. “I don’t want to be a constant reminder, and I can’t change, no matter how much I want to—”

She stepped closer, sliding her arms up over his shoulders. She smiled. “I don’t want you to change. I want you to be exactly who you are, and help me put the past behind me.”

She watched several thoughts and emotions play across his face as he allowed her words to settle. He met her eyes again, and she could see and feel the love and devotion within them. She tried not to think too far into a future.

“Does that mean I can kiss you?”

She smiled, leaned in so that their noses nearly touched. “You can do whatever you want. I trust you, John.”

No more hesitation, his lips covered hers, soft and sweet and full of grateful understanding. He wrapped his arms around her, and Juliana found herself quickly warmed in spite of the chilly winter air.

x-X-x

“Heil Himmler!” The sound of the salute echoed off the stone walls.

“Dr. Mengele,” said the Fuhrer. “I trust you have important updates if you called me all the way here from Berlin.”

“Yes, Mien Fuhrer. I thought you and the Reichsmarschall would like to see our progress in person.”

They were gathered at the entrance of Die Nebenwelt, a group of non-uniformed men standing at attention before the portal in organized rows. John hoped these updates would be promising, but quick. The less time he spent in the company of Himmler, the better.

“Well, get on with it then,” said the Fuhrer, no doubt taking a gamble on the amount of time he could be away from his oxygen machine after suffering the wound to his lung. The walk through the long hallways had already taken a toll on his breathing, but the stubborn old bullfrog had refused a wheelchair.

“Of course, Sir. You see these men here? We have found that they do not exist in this other world, and can therefore travel freely and safely between the worlds.”

“Ah, this is excellent news! Eh, Smith?”

“Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”

“Is this all of them?”

“We are still conducting more research, as we have several volunteers interested in our program, but this is our first group of travelers, ready for their orders.”

“A step closer to complete expansion,” Himmler breathed. “We’ve achieved so much in only a few short months. I congratulate you, Dr. Mengele.”

“Thank you, Mien Fuhrer,” said the doctor with a sharp bow of his head. Then he turned to gather up a few files to present to Himmler. “This is all the intelligence we’ve gathered on the United States in the alt-world. Much has already been shared with you, of course, but now we may review it with the intent to set clear objectives for our spies.”

John listened, as he must, as Himmler and Dr. Mengele discussed at length the Reich’s priorities when it came to conquering this other world, sharing his thoughts when asked. They decided to focus their efforts on sabotaging the United States’ nuclear arms program, as well as their space program, a logical first step by all accounts.

“You want these men to go?” said Mengele, circling a group of names hand-picked by the Fuhrer himself.

“Yes, they are most promising men and will do well, I think.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Sir.”

“I’ll draw up the orders and get them to you for the official approval immediately, Mien Fuhrer,” said John.

“See that you do, Smith.”

All men present gave a collective “Heil Himmler” as the squat, elderly man left the room. Once he’d gone, John turned to Mengele.

“Doctor, can I get a copy of the names of the men who have not been assigned a task by the Fuhrer?”

“Of course, Reichsmarschall. I trust you have your own plans in the other world?”

“You could say that.”

The other man looked curious, but knew better than to pry.

“I’ll write up the orders for those who have missions in the alt-world, and you can bring me the list when you’re finished.”

John remained at Lackawanna for a few days, coordinating and debriefing the teams for their missions in the alt world. He had also carefully examined the remaining men in the program, deciding that a quiet, but effective young recruit would best serve his own personal agenda.

“Ah, Agent Campbell,” he said as the young man entered the small room that contained little more than a metal table on which John had scattered some files and reports. “It’s nice to meet you more formally.”

He saluted the Reichsmarschall. “Same to you, Sir.”

“I, umm… I imagine you may have been disappointed not to have been one of the first sent into the alt-world. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Sir. I have been there once, but I am curious to learn more about it. It’s…fascinating.”

John nodded and stood, gathering a few papers. “Well, Agent Campbell, I’m glad you feel that way. It seems you’re in luck, because I have a special assignment in mind for you.”

“Sir?”

He rounded the table, handing the young man his written orders. He shoved his hands into his pockets as Agent Campbell flipped through them.

“You see, I’ve been aware for some time that another version of my family exists in this…alternate world. I would like you to track them down and report your findings directly to me.”

The young man appeared a little puzzled, but did not argue or ask any questions. “It would be my honor, Sir.”

“Good. I trust you have everything you need ready to go?”

“Yes, Reichsmarschall.”

“Then you might want to get your rest. You will leave with the first team tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He clicked his heels. “Heil Himmler!”

“Heil Himmler.”


	8. Bonds

“Looks like someone has a history project,” said Juliana, checking out the books that Thomas had set on the desk.

“Yeah. We’re studying the end of World War II. It’s crazy though. Germany started the war, and they did so many horrible things. But since the Soviets control half of Berlin, we hardly hear anything about them.”

She stalled with her pen over the book log. Berlin was still occupied? She’d read about the end of the war, and the German capital being split by the allies, but the Americans had pulled out in 1955. She had assumed the Russians hadn’t stayed much longer. Her research hadn’t taken her that far since she’d been so consumed with understanding the Nazi political system and its weaknesses, of which social cannibalism seemed to be the most prominent. Reflecting back on her time here, she realized she’d only seen a few broadcasts about _West_ Berlin.

“Yes, it’s…interesting,” she finally said, finishing the log and handing the book back to Thomas, along with the library slip.

He pulled his backpack from his shoulder, unzipping it so he could place the books inside.

“So,” he said conversationally. “You and my dad, huh?”

It seemed Thomas was keen to keep throwing curveballs at her that afternoon. She paused, glanced back up at him.

“Umm…Did he say something to you?”

Thomas grinned. “He doesn’t have to. Three Saturdays in a row, he was up early because he wanted to start ‘walking for some exercise.’ He might have mentioned you were joining him. Plus, he’s been noticeably more cheerful.”

Juliana lightly chewed the inside of her cheek in contemplation. Since she and John were still feeling out their new relationship, they’d agreed to keep it to themselves for now. After what happened on Christmas, they should have anticipated that Thomas and the girls would be more observant than they gave them credit for.

“Well, it’s, umm…still new. We’re still figuring it out ourselves and didn’t know what to say. You’re not…upset with us, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I get it. I’m glad. I want my dad to be happy again. And…we really like having you around.”

“I like having you all around, too,” she said, returning his smile.

Thomas slung his bag back over his shoulder. “I won’t say anything to Amy or Jennifer.”

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem. See you for Aikido tomorrow!” he called as he headed out the door.

Juliana sat back in her chair and heaved a sigh. A niggle of guilt gnawed at her. She wished she could keep her relationship with John between the two of them. She already didn’t know what she would do or how John would handle it when she had to go back to her own timeline. The thought of hurting Thomas and the girls bothered her greatly.

A blanket of snow covered the ground as John and Juliana walked their usual path around the park a few days later. At times, they talked, and at others, they were content to quietly observe the natural world around them. Her thoughts distracted her from the bite of the wind against her nose and cheeks, and John’s gloved hand around hers provided a simple comfort.

“Has Thomas said anything to you about us?” she asked after a while.

John glanced down at her. “No. I haven’t told them.”

“Mm.” She nodded, watching the path in front of them. “He was asking questions the other day when he came into the library.”

“Oh… So they know?”

“Thomas does.” She smiled back at him. “Apparently you’re too cheerful.”

He blinked in surprise. “Oh!” He chuckled. “Is…is that good or bad?”

“He likes to see you happy. He said he wouldn’t tell the girls. Maybe you should talk to them.”

He ran a hand over his head. “I know I should. I don’t know what to say. Neither one of us has…plans. We’re just taking it day by day. To plan it…well, it doesn’t feel right. I don’t know about you, but I’m enjoying just…living in the moment.”

“I agree. Things are what they are for now. I don’t even know what my own future looks like. Making a plan doesn’t seem possible, and at least for me, it would cheapen what we have—how special it is.”

They walked several paces, both of them retreating into their own thoughts.

“You’ve given me hope, Juliana. Hope that my family and I can…return to something normal again. We’re so much closer to that than we were before you came along, and my heart feels…full. I want to reach for that—for the puzzle to be whole again. But you know, I’m…I’m not ready to let go of Helen… Twenty years of marriage, I… I can’t just replace her.”

His words were deep and heavy, and she could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke of his late wife. She squeezed his hand in empathy and solidarity. However, she admitted to herself a sense of relief, that at least at this point, John was not ready to commit to something long-term. For his sake, she hoped she could leave before he changed his mind.

“No one should ever replace her. She was your wife, and a mother to your children. If someone stepped in to fill that role, that’s all it would be: filling a role. They could never take her place in your lives or in your hearts.”

“It’s a difficult concept to fathom. To make room in your heart for more than one love without feeling like you’re diminishing the importance of one or the other. She was my soulmate. I don’t think I could share the same kind of love with someone else.”

“No love is created equal, but I believe they’re all equally unique.”

“Hm. You bring a lot of perspective to my life,” he said thoughtfully. “I find I thrive on it. Perhaps that’s why I found you.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “Even though you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I figure you tell me all I need to know.”

Except that she knew she would have to leave. That guilt returned despite their agreement on living only in the present.

“I did tell you that I don’t know how much I’ll be able to give. How much…time, or quality, or…any of it. I can’t picture it, can’t define it. But no matter what happens, I don’t want you or the kids to think I never cared.”

She stopped, turning to him, and he followed suit. “John, whatever happens, please promise me that you won’t let Thomas and the girls forget how much I love them.” 

He seemed to brush it off, chuckled. “You make it sound like you’re going somewhere.”

“Just…please, promise me. Please? You won’t let them forget?”

He gave a light frown. “Yes, of course. I promise.”

“Good. So…day by day?”

“Hour by hour, and minute by minute.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing an arm round her shoulders as they walked on.

x-X-x

At half-past nine, Juliana had been headed to bed when the phone rang. Crossing the living room, she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Juliana. I’m sorry it’s late. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

She could hear the tension in his gravelly voice. “No. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing. I…I told them this evening.”

Leaning against the shelf beneath the window, she nodded. “How did they take it?”

“They were more than ok with it, as I knew they would be. I, umm… I did let them know that…we weren’t making any plans. I think they understand, but…I can’t say for certain.”

She could tell the conversation had left him shaken—felt the weight of words she hadn’t been privy to hanging eerily in the silence. She could only imagine what the kids had thought, what had been said, the tears that had likely accompanied talk of their mother.

“I, uh…wouldn’t tell you this if I knew for sure nothing would be said. I tried my best to…well, to stop them from jumping to conclusions, or expecting things that…that might not happen. But, umm…the girls, mostly Amy, thought that… Well, they miss their mother and…hoped that someday you might be able to…fill that role.”

Her stomach churned with the guilt of disappointing them, now and in the future. “I see.”

“I encouraged them to…continue viewing you more as an older sister, since that was the conversation at Christmas.”

“Thank you… How are you doing, John?”

“I’m fine,” he said, too quick in his reassurance. The silence ticked by. “It was…hard. As I knew it would be.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, no, I…I’m just going to get some sleep.”

She ached to be there, to hold him and lie with him, but she knew even her presence wouldn’t be helpful to him at the moment. It might’ve even made it worse.

“Okay. Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight.”

She shouldn’t be glad that this was difficult for him, and she wasn’t. However, it did help to alleviate some of her own nerves. She could have fought against her feelings for John, but like everything else, Juliana remained sure that they hadn’t occurred by chance. Even so, she hated knowing his heart still broke with grief over the loss of Helen.

Lying in bed, she wondered at the fragility of the Reichsmarschall’s heart. He hadn’t visibly reacted to her dig about Thomas. But then again, she supposed he couldn’t. Nazism cannibalized itself after all. Then there was Helen. Juliana had heard rumors that the Smith matriarch had run off to the Neutral Zone. At the time, she hasn’t paid much attention. What did she care if the Smith family fell apart? They deserved it.

Beneath the veneer of confidence his power afforded him, how much pain did the Reichsmarschall hide that he’d be punished for if he dared to show it?

x-X-x

“Daddy, are we going to go home soon?” said Amy, her lips turned down in a pout as she sat close to him on the sofa. Helen and Jennifer sat across the room. Only the youngest of the group appeared not to sense the chilly atmosphere.

“Oh, I don’t know, honey. I hope so.”

“Why can’t we go home now?” she whined.

“Well, Daddy’s been busy doing important work for the Fuhrer. It’s probably a lot more fun out here.”

“No it’s not… I don’t like it.”

A conversation that never seemed to end. He’d pushed and pushed for Helen to stop her stubbornness and return to New York. Each time he pled his case, she only dug in her heels further. He glanced over to his wife in mute appeal for assistance only to be met with a steely expression from behind her sewing needles. If looks could kill…

He turned his eyes back to Amy.

“I know,” he said, stroking her hair and rubbing her tiny cheek in reassurance. “Things will be back to normal soon. You’ll see.”

“You’ve been saying that forever!”

“Are they teaching you everything you need to know in school?” he asked Jennifer, ignoring the hard stare Helen continued to level at him.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I doubt they’re teaching you everything, but it’ll have to do.”

“It’s fine, Dad.”

She was turning into her mother. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been a bad thing, but considering Helen might as well have been marching them all straight to the guillotine, he’d been growing increasingly frustrated with the pair of them. 

If Helen thought Amy’s total devotion to the Reich didn’t sicken John too, she was horribly mistaken. He hated having to perpetuate the Nazi propaganda the state continued to force-feed them, but what choice did he have?

He clapped his hands together, looking around at each of them. “Would…anyone like to play a game?”

“Yes!” shouted Amy.

He focused on Jennifer, but she remained seated, her expression flat and distant. Her arms lay limply in her lap, but she now pulled them in, wrapping them around herself.

“No thanks,” she murmured.

Again, he looked to Helen for support. Her eyes were cold and sharp like daggers. She might as well have told Jennifer to denounce him entirely. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed when Susan announced less than an hour later that supper was ready.

Jennifer sat stiffly when he gave her a hug at bedtime and kissed the top of her head.

“I love you.”

“You, too.”

Closing the bedroom door behind him, he stood in the hallway momentarily before heading back into the sitting room. Helen waited, arms crossed.

“You’ve seen them. You can go home now.”

He nodded his head from side-to-side, glancing around. “Oh. Well, I didn’t realize that was your decision to make.”

“The girls are in bed, and you’re not staying the night. I have nothing to say to you, so you can go on, and keep working on that important business for the Fuhrer. We both know how impatient he can be.”

He scrubbed his hand over the lower half of his face. “Do you want to turn them against me? Is that really what you want?”

“I don’t have to. You’re doing a good job of it all on your own. Jennifer is smart enough to see through all those lies. Amy will get there.”

He threw his arms out, actually stunned. “I don’t understand. Have I not done everything I can to keep our family together? And you want to tear it apart, just like that?”

“Oh no, John. You’re not going to make me out to be the bad guy. You’ve chosen your side. Heidrich Himmler is clearly far more important than we are.”

“I cannot believe what I’m hearing.”

“Actions speak louder than words. You could change those actions—at any time. But you won’t.”

He folded his hands in front of his face. Never one to raise his voice, especially at Helen and the children, he said quietly, “I really thought…that you knew me better than that.”

“You know, I thought so, too. But after over twenty years of marriage—” she gave a humorless laugh. “—I realize…I don’t know you at all.”

He grasped for words, for anything he could say or do.

“Alright. Alright, fine. I’ll go.” He turned to grab his coat off the back of the sofa, pulled it on. “It was…good to see you and the girls anyway.”

She didn’t move. Only stood there, arms crossed. He met her eyes pointedly.

“I love you, Helen.”

Her silence felt like bullet to his chest.

He turned to make his way through the house, thanking Hank and Susan again for their hospitality.

“Always a pleasure, John,” said Susan, and he wished she would stop lying straight to his face. Hank only nodded before John walked out the door.

He ignored the salutes of his men as he boarded the jet. Slumping into one of the seats, he closed his eyes, stuffing down the hurt, the anger, the desperation. He wanted to get off this goddamn farm, but he loathed to return to New York where he had to keep pushing on, keep pretending to be a good little Nazi to spare his family a death sentence.

He couldn’t see a way out. Didn’t Helen understand that he was trapped? That the only way to keep their daughters alive was for him to play his part flawlessly in the Reich? He fucking hated it, but wasn’t it his responsibility— _their_ responsibility to make sacrifices for their children?

The farmhouse growing smaller and smaller out the window served as an apt metaphor for the diminishing hope he had of regaining some semblance of normalcy. Helen wouldn’t come back, and Jennifer was close to disowning him—though hell if she would tell him why. She didn’t seem to think he needed an explanation. Only Amy still acted like she loved him. He likely had her age and naivete to thank for that, but how long would her unconditional love last?

x-X-x

A few weeks later, John returned to Lackawanna to check on the progress of the portal project. Mengele had gathered more information on the volunteers for the program, and John had handed him the reins on the project, giving him the authority to send whomever he thought capable to the other world to begin gathering data from other nations there. Additionally, they still had Abendsen working to analyze the films, identifying the other worlds.

The first team had also returned to give their reports. John met with Agent Campbell separately.

“How was your trip?”

“Very productive, Sir.”

“Good. I trust you have some information for me.”

“Yes, Sir. I was able to locate your family quickly enough,” he said, handing John a file. “In a small town outside of Washington D.C. called Bailey’s Crossroads, Virginia.”

“That’s a…strange name,” said John, flipping the file open to examine it. “You said it’s a small town?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

“Your son is alive in that world, Sir,” said Agent Campbell as John found the pictures of Thomas. “He shows no symptoms… He seems…normal, Sir. He plays sports. He’s popular, good in school.”

If he were a man given to tears, John would have choked on the tightness in his throat upon seeing the brand-new images of his son’s beautiful smiling face. They weren’t a part of any Nazi propaganda, they were just pictures of his boy, his Thomas, just as happy and gentle as he had ever been.

He swallowed.

“And my daughters?”

“Alive and well. They also do not show any signs of disease.”

Knowing that all three of his children were happy and healthy ignited the first spark of real joy he’d felt in months. A photo of the alternate version of himself with his girls pulled him back into a state of melancholy. He pushed it aside.

“So, what do I do in this…alternate world? Am I a military man?”

“Well, actually, Sir, you…were a businessman.”

“Businessman. What kind of business?”

“Insurance, Sir.”

“An executive?”

“…You were in sales.”

“In D.C.?”

“All around. You…” Agent Campbell seemed to struggle with the words. “You-you traveled, Reichsmarschall.”

“A traveling salesman.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He chuckled. “Ok. The road not taken leads to…traveling salesman.” He glanced back at Agent Campbell. “I noticed you used past tense. Am I… _no longer_ …a traveling salesman?”

“Umm… No, Sir. You…you now work at a…local hardware store…after the death of your wife.”

Any trace of amusement left John’s face. He stared at the agent. “What?”

“Your wife is…deceased.”

He glanced around, processing the information. “Surely you’re mistaken.”

“I’m…afraid not, Sir. She…apparently died a few years ago. You took a job locally to…be home for the kids.”

The knowledge shook him. He’d lost Helen in the other world, too? Could it be just a coincidence?

“How… What…happened to her?”

“I’m not sure, Sir. No one seems to mention it.” Campbell looked distinctly more uncomfortable than he had when sharing the information about John’s alternate occupations. “But you seem to be…moving on. Starting a…new relationship.”

John’s brows lifted nearly to his hairline.

“Oh?”

Imagining himself with anyone other than Helen seemed more foreign than the idea of a portal to another dimension. Though he supposed the idea didn’t entirely lack merit, considering recent events…

“And, uh… Who have I taken an interest in, then?” he asked, finding himself almost entirely disinterested in the revelation as he flipped through more photos. Surely some nobody.

“Someone named…Juliana Crain,” said Agent Campbell as John reached a photo of himself and an unmistakably familiar young woman walking hand-in-hand.

He froze in his disbelief, the evidence dropping like a heavy stone into his stomach. No. No—impossible.

“This…this is a joke…right?”

“No, Sir. I…I took the pictures myself.”

John looked back and forth between Agent Campbell and the file in his hands. He lifted the photo, revealing the next; a snapshot of him kissing the young woman on the forehead.

A range of emotions cycled through him rapidly, on repeat; denial, disgust, anger, confusion. For several moments, he couldn’t look away from the photos, couldn’t land on one thought, one feeling, one interpretation.

Finally, the anger seemed to win out, at least for the moment.

“Of course that’s where she went. At least now I know.”

“You…know her, Reichsmarschall?”

“Yes, Agent Campbell,” he said on a sharp exhale, closing the file. “Unfortunately I do.”

“Do you want me to…intervene, Sir?”

He chewed on the question, then answered, “No. No, I would like you to return and…keep an eye on the situation. Report your findings directly to me. This matter is to stay between us, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I will be returning to New York with no plans to come back to Lackawanna for a little while. You will report to me there.”

“Sir. Heil Himmler!”

“Heil Himmler…”

John left the facility, waving off anyone who attempted to engage him in conversation or questioning. He could deal with it all later. For now, he needed to be alone to think, to plan, to seethe.

He paced the car like a caged animal as the high-speed train took him back to the city. He hadn’t gotten the nerve to reopen that file. The images were burned into his memory, and he thought he’d never be able to remove them.

What game was she playing? Had she intended to land in that world? Had she actively sought him out? Had she aimed to seduce him? If she had, what could she possibly hope to accomplish with such a perverse and ludicrous goal?

She was sick. She had to be.

He supposed he could have been looking at another version of her, one that had never met him outside of that alternate world. His instincts told him otherwise. He’d shot her. The blood on the wall had been proof, but she’d vanished. He’d hoped he’d killed her—had worried he hadn’t. It couldn’t be a coincidence that she’d come up in the photographs.

She knew about the portal. Was it possible she knew he’d be watching? Did she plan to taunt him from the other side, knowing he wouldn’t be able to follow her there to put an end to her himself?

That meddling little wench. He should have ordered her death. He _wanted_ to order Agent Campbell to put a bullet in her head. But she was smart, manipulative—a schemer. He had to figure out what she was up to. She hadn’t struck John as being a coward. He remained certain she would return, but he wanted to know when, and with what plans or information.

What did it matter? He could render it all irrelevant with a single directive. All he had to do was say the word, and his agent would make sure Juliana Crain never set foot in this world ever again.

A sick curiosity stopped him from doing so. Though the whole thing disgusted him, he wanted to watch it play out.

Was it really a game? He wondered as he sat in his home office, studying the photographs. There were more he hadn’t seen—hadn’t wanted to see while at Lackawanna. Pictures of himself and Juliana and his kids.

He studied her face in each photograph, but no matter how hard he searched, he could find no trace of false pretenses. She appeared genuinely invested in him and the children. He latched on to one image in particular; a smiling Juliana holding a grinning Amy tightly in her arms. John stood beside them with Thomas and Jennifer. They were happy, all of them.

His mouth turned down, letting out a defeated sigh when a wave of sadness washed over him, leaving him feeling empty. It overshadowed the brief flicker of warmth and joy he felt at seeing his family together and smiling for the first time since Thomas’s death.

His fists clenched in envy. The twist in his gut told him that he had no hope of reuniting his family in this timeline. And yet, in the other world, Juliana had managed to do just that.

And he hated her for it. He hated her, but he found himself grateful that she’d found a way to bring his children real happiness. Even the Reichsmarschall hadn’t been able to manage that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...is it bad that I enjoy writing arguments between John and Helen? I love Helen's snark. She's got a backbone that puts John to shame, honestly. I love her in the show, and I love writing her here. I also really love writing John's thoughts. We're only left guessing what he's thinking in the show, but I imagine he feels a lot. He just doesn't have the guts to fully confront it the way Helen does. Ugh, the contrast between them is fascinating! 
> 
> And as for Juliana... Well, here we go! Reichsmarschall Smith has finally found her! Oh, the torment!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think so far! Comments welcome, and constructive criticism encouraged!


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